


And the Sun Burned Through

by quietregulus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Depression, First Time, HP: EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POC Harry Potter, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-19 16:41:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5974362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietregulus/pseuds/quietregulus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy doesn't feel right after the war. It's just his luck that Harry Potter doesn't either.</p><p>Alternatively: Draco smokes too much, Harry gives too many pep talks, and Pansy just worries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you tethered me to you

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this one night in November (it's February now. February 2016) and kept going and I'm still not finished. Hopefully I'll be able to get over my writer's block and publish this in two parts in a reasonable amount of time. 
> 
> But anyway, I love dumping all my problems on fictional characters and Draco's the poor kid this time.
> 
> Take care to look at the content warnings, and consider these as well: minor suicidal ideation, food, alcohol, cigarette smoking.
> 
> Title and chapter titles from "Lake Song" by the Decemberists. 
> 
> "Harry Potter" obviously doesn't belong to me.

He couldn’t even look directly at him.

Potter had changed since Draco had last seen him. Some things were the same, of course. His brown skin, those round glasses, but otherwise.

He had apparently chosen to keep his hair at the length it had grown into during his absent year – it nearly reached his shoulders. Who’d have thought perpetually messy hair looked better longer? He had also filled out his robes better than he ever had in all his years of schooling – Draco would know, he had spent six consecutive years glaring at his classmate. Potter laughed at something Weasley said.

Draco cursed inwardly and looked down at his table. Everything was too different and too similar all at once. This classroom, one he’d spent countless hours in, was being filled with new presences when the old had barely left. He still half expected to hear Professor Snape ruthlessly berating Longbottom or Potter even though Snape was long gone, from both this classroom and this earth. Draco wondered idly if Slughorn would be back to teach Potions. He couldn’t see why he wouldn’t.

Only Blaise sat next to him now. Pansy, too, had returned to Hogwarts, but she didn’t make it into Potions after the OWLs. Blaise was seated next to Draco, gazing at nothing in particular with a bored expression on his handsome face. Draco figured bored was better than anxious, which is what Draco was. Extremely anxious.

He felt like he didn’t belong here, like this was all a big mistake, but his mother had pleaded with him. _Go back to school_ , she had said, her bony hands clasping his own. _It won’t be the same, I know, but please, Draco._ He couldn’t argue with her, a near ghost of what she had been before the Dark Lord had wreaked havoc on the world, and in his family.

Draco chanced a look at Potter again.

Across the room, Potter looked comfortable, surrounded by the ever-present Weasley and Granger. He didn’t seem perturbed. Of course, he had no reason to be. He was on the right side of the war all along. He wasn’t part of a previously feared family that had lost nearly everything after the war. His skin wasn’t marred by the barely-faded mark that branded him as the enemy. He wasn’t a fucking Death Eater. He was the Chosen One, savior of the wizarding world. He was good and pure, and Draco was dirt.

Draco rubbed at his left arm absently, taking his gaze off Potter and wishing for the thousandth time that he wasn’t here. His bitter thoughts were cut off by Slughorn entering the room. The classroom quieted as the old man made his way up to the front.

“Welcome, class, to your final year of Hogwarts,” he said, a nervous smile on his face. “It’s about time, eh?”

* * *

 

Draco made it through the rest of the first day, though his mind wasn’t nearly as present as it should have been. He was now sat between Blaise and Pansy in the Great Hall, both half-heartedly talking about their first day back. Draco couldn’t find the energy to contribute to their conversation, choosing instead to move his dinner back and forth on his plate. He could tell Pansy was getting increasingly annoyed by his pointless actions, the way she kept pursing her lips and shifting her eyes away from Blaise to glare momentarily at Draco’s plate. With a sigh, he put his fork down and tried to listen to his friends.

“Tibson’s a tit, anyone can tell he doesn’t know anything,” Pansy was saying, her shoulders relaxing as she realized Draco had stopped.

“Hiring pool’s thin as ever,” Blaise responded. “War can’t fix everything, it seems.”

Draco’s mind and gaze wandered over to the Gryffindor table across the Hall; this was second nature to him by now. Potter’s demeanor was still relaxed; he was listening enthusiastically to his classmates, all smiling and laughing as if they hadn’t just been involved in a war.

He suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Draco pushed his plate back and stood. Pansy and Blaise looked up at him, the former slightly alarmed.

“Done already?” Blaise asked, eyeing the barely-touched plate.

“Draco, you’ve hardly eaten,” Pansy frowned, never being one to beat around the bush.

“Not hungry,” he mumbled. “Long day. I’m going back to the dorm.”

Pansy didn’t look happy, but she let it rest. “Fine. We’ll see you later, then.”

Draco nodded. He glanced at the Gryffindor table as he left, and he could have sworn Potter was looking right at him for just a second. Draco focused his attention on leaving the Great Hall, his cheeks growing warm as he stared determinedly at the exit.

* * *

 

It’d been a month since Draco had started his “eighth year,” as both students and professors had taken to calling it.

It wasn’t becoming any easier, he reflected. It wasn’t like he expected an immediate return to his earlier years at Hogwarts, but watching the rest of the school carry on made shame and anger rise in him. And it wasn’t just the Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, and Hufflepuffs. Sure, Slytherins were subdued compared to the rest, but they could eat. They could study. They could carry on a conversation with their friends. Draco, on the other hand, found these things near impossible.

Everything he forced in his mouth was tasteless, though he didn’t care much as his appetite started an infrequent schedule of coming and going two years ago. He wished he could bury himself in his studies, but his mind wandered too often and he could barely scrape up the energy to attend his classes, let alone do all his homework.

Pansy and Blaise were the only people he could feel comfortable enough to talk to, but even conversation with them felt forced more often than not. He could feel Pansy’s worried gaze on him frequently, and she’d tried to get him to open up several times. Even Blaise had tried to start a few conversations with him, sent by Pansy, no doubt.

Draco never had anything to say when this happened. Pansy would look at him worriedly, her hands halfway between clasping his own and worrying a loose thread on her robes. He’d tell her not to worry, it was just strange to be back after everything but he’d be back to normal soon enough, you’ll see. She never looked convinced, but she knew him well enough to stop pushing. She’d leave until next time, and he’d wonder what “normal” for him even was.

* * *

 

“…Potter and Malfoy. Your potions are due in 90 minutes. Good luck!”

It was bound to happen. Of course it was. Potter and Malfoy, potions partners once again. It was like they were third years all over again. Only now, Draco didn’t have the upper hand.

The class shifted as students found their respective partners; the sound of friendly conversation and flipping textbooks soon filled the room. Draco had been so busy cursing his situation that he didn’t notice Blaise had already left and Potter had taken his place.

“Hi, Malfoy.”

Merlin, it was even worse up close. Draco looked down at his notes immediately after reaching Potter’s bright (though apprehensive) eyes. It was like looking at the sun; he was too bright, too powerful, and Draco was just a terrible, depressed pile of nerves. He managed to look up long enough to meet Potter’s gaze, hoping there was no pink tinge to his cheeks.

“Potter.”

Draco covered up his embarrassment by pretending to study his notes, though his loopy script was barely legible. It was a wonder how much energy taking notes consumed.

“Er, well, I’ll get the ingredients, then,” Potter said uncertainly.

It appeared as if Draco’s unintentional ruse was effective. Better to let Potter think he was ignoring him because he hated him rather than the truth. Draco nodded, and Potter left to get the ingredients.

Draco was heating the cauldron and running through the list of instructions when Potter returned. Draco barely acknowledged him as he began picking through the ingredients to find the ones he needed first. He could feel Potter watching him as he worked, making him even tenser than he was before. He desperately hoped he wouldn’t muck it up; embarrassing himself in front of Potter was the last thing he needed. He’d already spent much too long humiliating himself.

Sixty minutes later, their potion was coming along nicely. Draco didn’t mind doing the majority of the work if it meant he didn’t have to look at or talk to Potter. Potter didn’t seem to mind much either, given how he simply sat next to Draco and observed silently.

At this point, the potion called for fifteen minutes to simmer gently, leaving Draco with nothing to occupy himself with. He did his best to continue ignoring Potter, and willed him not to talk in return. He didn’t want Potter looking at him. He was unworthy; he was dirt. Potter was a hero, and Draco felt all the more repulsive being so close to someone so exceedingly good – inside and out. Draco wondered if the fifteen minutes had passed yet.

Potter chose this moment to break the silence between them.

“You’re still just as good at Potions as before,” Potter said with a nervous cough. When Draco said nothing, he continued. “Which is good, since I’m just as bad.”

Draco chanced a look at Potter. He really did look handsome, even though his hair was a mess (as usual) and his tie was done sloppily. He was at ease, turned slightly towards Draco in his chair. Draco realized that his own body language was in sharp contrast with Potter’s; he was sitting rigidly in his chair and facing the desk. With great effort, he marginally lowered his tense shoulders.

“If I remember correctly, you certainly weren’t bad at Potions in sixth year,” Draco said, his attention back on his hands.

Potter gave a little laugh. “Yeah, well, it wasn’t me.”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Really,” Potter said. “I was just following instructions Sn- someone had written in the textbook before me. I never knew what I was doing.”

“Well. It’s hardly surprising,” Draco said after a moment. “Change in professors can only do so much.”

“I’m sure Snape’d be glad balance has been restored.”

“As am I,” Draco said. He checked the clock. “Pass me the lavender, Potter.”

* * *

 

Draco felt strange after the conversation with Potter in Potions that day. It was the most normal he’d felt – whatever that meant – in a long while. He thought Pansy might have noticed a difference in him too; she looked at him with something other than sadness in her eyes.

When he woke the next day, however, he felt just as he had for the past month.

* * *

 

Halloween was approaching, and the cold was coming with it. It felt like the cold was settling even deeper in Draco’s bones.

He hadn’t had any contact with Potter since that day in Potions, save for the occasional glance across the Great Hall or a classroom.

Sometime during the past summer, Draco had picked up a smoking habit. His mother hated it; she said it was because she was worried for his health, but he wondered how much of her hatred came from the anti-Muggle prejudice that had long been seeped in her mind.

He was sitting near the lake and supporting this habit when Pansy sat down next to him and held her hand out. Draco passed his cigarette to her silently. Pansy lifted it to her lips and breathed in, eyes fluttering closed. She handed it back to Draco as he watched her, thinking about how she had admonished him when she first found out he smoked.

Pansy exhaled, and they watched the smoke dissipate in the crisp air.

“They’re having a party, you know,” Pansy said finally. She drew her legs in close and wrapped her arms around them. She looked cold. “The rest of the eighth years. A Halloween get-together. We’ve been invited as well, if you’re interested.”

Draco took a drag so he didn’t have to respond right away. He thought about it. Did anyone really want him there? Whose idea was it to invite the ex-Death Eater to their fun holiday party?

“Is Blaise going?”

“There’s free drinks,” she said, which was a yes.

“Hmm,” Draco said.

Pansy rolled her eyes and took the cigarette from Draco’s hands. She stood before taking a puff and handing it back down to Draco.

“You don’t have to RSVP or anything, so you can take your time,” Pansy said, hands in pockets. “Just let me know.”

Draco nodded.

* * *

 

His mother would send letters frequently. It wasn’t as often as it was when he was eleven, but it was still nice to have something that was warmly familiar to him. She’d talk about visiting the Parkinsons, about how the hydrangeas were starting to wither, about how proud she was of him, but never about Draco’s father. The trials had taken a toll on them all, but the Malfoys weren’t known for expressing their emotions. Draco decided to follow his mother’s lead and never bring it up unless she did, which, shockingly enough, was almost never.

He’d write back about his studies, Pansy, and the weather. He didn’t feel the need to write about how useless it all seemed. About how even if he did graduate from Hogwarts, he’d only be seen for what he was. Is. A dirty Death Eater who only sided with the right side when it was convenient.

He didn’t want to worry her. It’d hurt him to see her worried; she was one of the strongest people he knew.

* * *

 

Pansy gripped his hand.

“It’ll be fine,” she said soothingly, her breath warm against his shoulder.

Blaise walked in front of them, his eyes scanning the room, undoubtedly in search of the alcohol. Draco wondered if that was a better way to relieve oneself of their sorrows than smoking. It was a toss-up, he decided.

The party was being held in the Room of Hidden Things. From a logical point, Draco could see why the hosts would choose this place to hold a gathering. It didn’t mean it hurt any less.

This was a mistake, he thought for the millionth time in his life.

“This was a mistake,” he said aloud, softly enough so only Pansy heard.

Draco stopped walking. Pansy did too, and she looked up at him, brows furrowed, lips pulled into a frown.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you along.”

“You didn’t,” he said hurriedly. “It’s my fault. I thought I could do this.”

“You just need more time.” Pansy squeezed his hand. “There’s no shame in that.”

He did feel ashamed, though. He couldn’t stop feeling shameful and guilty and dirty and unworthy and tired and a thousand other things he wished he didn’t feel. Draco took a deep breath, steeling himself.

“No, I can do this. I need this,” he added.

“If you’re sure.” Pansy seemed doubtful. Draco nodded. She gave his hand a final squeeze before letting go. “Then let’s go find Blaise. And the alcohol.”

* * *

 

Draco thought that he had about five drinks. He wasn’t even sure what kind of drinks they were, to be honest. Something cheap and Gryffindor-like. There were so many Gryffindors here.

He guessed he was somewhere past tipsy but not quite drunk. He lost Pansy somewhere after the third drink, and Blaise had disappeared far before then.

Draco knocked back the last of his drink, and decided that he wanted some fresh air. There were too many people here and he was sure too many of them hated him. He wondered if the Room of Hidden Things could produce windows or balconies or anything of the like, and then he saw a door appear across the room.

He made his way there, trying his best to avoid stony gazes and rigid shoulders. Draco clumsily opened the door to the balcony and stepped outside. He shivered as he looked down, white fingers gripping the railing tight. Seven floors up. He wondered how long it would take to meet the ground from here.

Draco took the pack of cigarettes out of his coat and shook one out. He placed it in his mouth and used his wand to light it. He took a shaky breath in, savoring the instant relief it gave him.

A soft cough interrupted his thoughts; Draco jumped and turned, expecting Pansy or Blaise. Instead, Potter was standing there, swaying a bit with a drink in hand.

“Hey, Malfoy.”

“Potter.” He nodded before turning back around to gaze into the distance. Anywhere but Potter.

“Didn’t know you smoked,” Potter said after a moment of silence.

“I reckon there’s lots you don’t know about me, Potter.”

“Yeah,” Potter said. “I guess.”

He heard Potter come closer, and out of the corner of his eye, saw him rest his arms against the railing about a foot away from Draco.

Draco took another drag, trying to remain calm, and wondered why Potter was here with him when he could be inside with anyone else. After some deliberation, he voiced his thoughts.

“Why are you here?”

Draco chanced a glance at Potter. He seemed surprised.

“I just needed a break,” Potter said, though he didn’t sound too sure of it himself. “I love them and all, but…it’s a lot. It’s all – everything’s a lot.”

“’Everything’s a lot,’” Draco announced to the air. The alcohol was certainly taking an effect. “Wise words by Potter, savior of the wizarding world. Really, your wisdom is unrivaled.”

Potter scoffed and took a gulp of his drink. “You’re an arse.”

“Explain then.” Draco brought the cigarette to his lips and waited.

“I don’t know.” Potter sounded frustrated now. His speech was a bit slurred, and Merlin help him, Draco found it endearing. His drunk brain needed to fuck off. “It’s just, the way everyone is acting, it’s as if nothing’s changed. But everything did. I don’t see how they’ve all just moved on with their lives but I’m still thinking about that body I stepped over on the third floor during the battle and how I have to walk past that spot every day on my way to class. Or how they’re all just getting pissed where horrible things happened just a few months ago but none of them seem to remember or care.

“So I can’t care, right? I can’t remember. I’ve got to pretend everything’s normal and fine and this is just another year at Hogwarts even though this entire castle is a giant graveyard. It’s just…wrong. And I needed fresh air, and this seemed like a good idea at the time, but I was obviously wrong, so I’ll just-”

Potter stood back from the railing and made to leave. Draco turned and forced himself to finally look Potter in the eye. Merlin, he was breathtaking.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” Draco said truthfully. “You don’t need to go. I don’t mind.”

Potter stared, as if he was trying to figure Draco out. The intensity of his gaze made Draco uncomfortable, and it made him remember the last time they had this much eye contact – seven months ago in the Manor. Draco felt simultaneously ill and aroused, making him even more disgusted in himself.

Potter broke his gaze and glared down at his drink instead.

“Sorry. I’m pissed. Forget what I said.” Potter resumed his place at the railing, worrying his lip.

“No, I.” Draco took a deep breath, trying to work up the nerves. His tongue was already looser than usual, but it was still difficult to voice his thoughts. But Potter had to know; Draco owed him that much. “I understand. It feels wrong to me too.”

Potter turned towards Draco with the expression of an excited puppy.

“Really? Oh, thank Merlin, sometimes it feels like I’m the only one who remembers what happened. Or the only one who cares.”

“I’m glad to see your ego hasn’t deflated at all,” Draco said wryly, though he thought Potter’s enthusiasm was, for lack of a better word, adorable. He loved seeing Potter drunk. He loved being drunk.

Potter ignored him. “I’m just relieved to know I’m not the only one who feels this way.”

Draco took another drag.

“Well,” Draco said, enjoying the way the wind felt on his face. Enjoying the way alcohol helped make everything lighter. Enjoying Potter’s company. “You aren’t. I care.”

Draco jumped violently when he felt a hand on his shoulder. His widened eyes stared at it for a long moment before moving to Potter, who was gazing at him seriously. Chills ran down his back as he struggled for words. Potter beat him to it.

“Thank you, Malfoy,” he said gravely.

Draco swallowed thickly. “You’re – you’re welcome, Potter.”

Potter removed his hand, and Draco felt uncomfortably warm. He tore his gaze away from Potter – _so_ _beautiful_ – and took a shaky drag. He wondered how many drinks Potter had had. He wondered if Potter had ever been drunk before.

“Fuck, Malfoy, it’s just,” Potter said, speaking as if that moment didn’t just happen, “It makes me so mad that we’re back here but people don’t even care – they don’t care, Malfoy! They’re just going about their lives and I can’t. I keep remembering everything and I can’t get it out of my head, it all comes back. You know what I mean?”

Draco thought for a moment, his mind working a bit slower than usual. Finally, he nodded.

“Yeah.”

“I hate it, Hermione thinks-“ Potter stopped himself abruptly. Draco looked over. His hair was mussed – he must have been running his hand through it. “Anyway, er, sorry. Pissed.”

Potter raised his cup. He looked tired.

“No need to apologize, Potter,” Draco said. “I’m not really sober myself.”

“You’re nicer when you’re not.”

This startled a short laugh out of Draco. He glanced at Potter and flushed at the way Potter was grinning at him.

“See,” Potter said. “You just laughed.”

“I laugh, Potter,” Draco said defensively. “It’s not my fault you’re never around to see it.”

“Whatever, _Malfoy_ ,” Potter said, that cheeky smile still on his face, and took a drink.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, enjoying the quiet and each other’s company (although Draco couldn’t speak for Potter, he somehow didn’t think it was a far-fetched assumption). Suddenly, the sound of Weasley’s voice carried from inside the Room out onto the balcony. It sounded like he was drunkenly calling for Potter.

Draco tensed; Weasley’s voice served as a reminder of the outside world, so different from this strange limbo consisting of him, Potter, and the balcony. It reminded him that he wasn’t wanted - that he was undesirable and wrong and Potter was everything but.

“Go,” Draco said before Potter could say anything. “You should return to your friends. Wouldn’t want to be found out here with me.”

“Right,” Potter said, glancing nervously into the Room. “Er, thanks, Malfoy. For talking with me about this.”

“There’s no need to thank me, Potter.”

Potter slipped away. Draco went back to smoking and gazing into the distance, feeling colder than before.

* * *

 

When his cigarette was reduced to ash, Draco decided to go back inside. He found Pansy talking animatedly with Padma Patil. When she saw him, she smiled and held up a finger. Draco leaned against a nearby wall to wait for her, avoiding eye contact with the others in the room. He still felt like an outsider. He was a world apart from everyone else, and no amount of alcohol and friendly conversation could change that.

His gaze floated over to Potter. He was chatting with Longbottom, Weasley, and Granger. It was like Potter had never even confessed all that he did to Draco earlier. He was apparently back to pretending like everything was fine and normal for his friends.

Draco felt worse. Potter could do such a good job at putting on a show for his friends, while all Draco could do was distance himself from the few he had left. It was typical of him, really, to be so moody and selfish. He half-watched Potter and wondered how he did it, how he gathered the energy to interact with people and put on a happy face when thoughts of death weighed on his mind. Draco was both impressed and bitter.

“Right, I’m ready to go now,” Pansy said as she approached him, smelling faintly of alcohol and her usual perfume. “Draco?”

“Right, sorry.” He snapped his attention away from Potter.

Pansy had already followed his gaze.

“What is it? Were they being rude to you? Merlin, I thought we’d all grown up.” Her voice was harder than it had been in a while.

Her hand hovered over the place she kept her wand. Draco worried that she wasn’t sober enough to be able to wield it properly – not that there would be any need for that.

“No, everything’s fine, everyone was perfectly civil, don’t worry,” Draco said, taking her wand arm and pulling gently. “Come on, let’s go.”

* * *

 

The next day in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Pansy nudged Draco with her foot.

“Hmm?” Draco continued taking notes, half listening to Professor Ulman and half waiting for Pansy to speak.

“Last night wasn’t too bad, was it?” Pansy asked in a low voice.

He stopped to look at her. “No, it wasn’t. Thanks for bringing me, Pansy.”

She smiled.

“I’m glad you had a good time, Draco. I’m also glad you didn’t just sulk in the corner the entire time,” her smile turned into a smirk, and Draco rolled his eyes. “Where were you, anyway? I lost track of you once I started talking to Patil.”

Pansy and Patil had recently struck up an unlikely friendship, sparked by their mutual adoration for certain magical creatures.

“Nowhere in particular,” Draco said, wondering why he was being evasive. It was like he wanted to keep his conversation with Potter private.

“Well, either way,” Pansy said, who was not entirely satisfied by the look of her face, “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. You deserve some fun.”

He didn’t agree with that, but he stayed silent. He returned his attention to the professor.

* * *

 

Draco didn’t talk to Potter again until Friday afternoon.

His classes were over with, he had even revised a bit by some miracle, and was now going to the Owlery to send his mother a letter. He was feeling pretty impressed with himself; it was unusual for him to get so much done in one day.

He hadn’t encountered many other students in the corridors as he made his way to the Owlery, but he kept his head down as he walked anyway. He couldn’t meet the eyes of those who hated him, those who were disgusted with him, those who ignored him. He didn’t want to force them to have to look at him. But by doing this, he’d almost missed Potter as he passed by.

“Malfoy?”

Draco slowed; he recognized Potter’s voice immediately, but he didn’t know if he actually wanted to talk to him. The last time they’d seen each other, they’d both admitted to things one usually didn’t admit to – especially to someone they had such a (rocky) relationship with.

“Oi, Malfoy.”

Draco lifted his head and turned. Potter was standing there, looking impossibly handsome in his school robes.

“What, Potter?” His voice didn’t have the bite it used to. It took too much effort, truthfully.

Potter wasn’t deterred. “Just saying hi.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Potter smiled, and Draco felt his cheeks warm. Potter walked over, a hand on the strap of the bag that hung carelessly over his shoulder. “How’ve you been?”

What was Potter playing at?

“Fine,” he said, and because his mother had instilled manners in him as a child, he asked, “And you?”

“Oh, just the usual, I guess. I, er,” Potter stopped and ran a hand through his hair.

Draco thought he knew what was on Potter’s mind, and stepped in.

“Don’t worry, Potter, I won’t go sharing your secrets with anyone,” Draco said. “I like to think I’ve grown up, even if it’s just a bit.”

“Oh.” Potter blinked. He looked at Draco curiously. “I, er, wasn’t thinking about that. I didn’t think you would.”

Draco felt embarrassed.

“What, then?”

“I dunno,” Potter said, and he bit his lip. “I mean, I just wanted to thank you. Properly. It, er, was nice to get that all of my chest.”

Harry Potter thanking Draco Malfoy. Sincerely, it seemed. Draco was stunned.

“Oh. There’s no need to thank me, Potter, I didn’t do anything.”

Draco frowned at him.

“You did,” Potter said, giving a strange sort of smile. “See you around, Malfoy.”

Draco was left staring at the spot Potter had been standing at, smiling at him.

* * *

 

Draco released the smoke from his lungs.

This habit of sitting out by the lake before sunrise began his first month back. He had always been a light sleeper, but over the past few months, he found himself waking over the smallest noises. Usually, though, it was the nightmares that woke him.

Falling back asleep was nearly impossible, so he figured he would take advantage of the quiet campus and take a walk after the fourth wakening. In his tired state, he found himself out by the Black Lake. He’d always been fond of it, but it took on a different, almost ethereal quality in the early morning.

So now, whenever he woke too early, he sought out the lake (and a smoke). It was preferable to lying sleepless in bed, covered in sweat.

Draco cast _Tempus_ with a lazy flick of his wand; there was still plenty of time before breakfast. He took another drag, and thought about how much he was dreading the upcoming day (the usual amount). His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps that were much too close for his liking.

Draco looked up; Potter was standing a foot away from him, a hesitant look on his face.

“D’you mind if I sit?”

Draco’s throat was dry as he shook his head. Why was Potter here?

He sat down next to Draco. He was wearing a black hoodie with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his dark hair was as messy as ever. Draco loved how it looked at this length, and wanted desperately to run his fingers through it.

“What’re you doing out here so early?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said.

“Me neither,” said Potter.

“Hmm,” Draco said, and took another drag.

Potter eyed him. Draco wondered what he was thinking.

“Cigarettes are bad for you,” Potter finally said, a slight frown on his face.

“If I had a sickle for every time I heard that…”

“So why don’t you stop?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Why do you care?”

“It’s killing you slowly,” Potter said. He seemed frustrated. “Why wouldn’t I care?”

“It’s just me,” Draco blurted out. He wished he hadn’t; Potter’s frown deepened.

“Just you? What do you mean, just you?”

“I mean, you’ve never cared about me before, so why would you now?” Draco’s heart was pounding and he hated how intensely Potter was staring at him.

“I _have_ cared about you,” said Potter, but Draco didn’t believe it. “I _do_ care.”

Draco shook his head and stood.

“Whatever, Potter.”

* * *

 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the conversations with Potter. The way he was talking to Draco was puzzling and strange, and Draco didn’t know how to feel about it. What was Potter playing at? Why did he keep talking to Draco, voluntarily choosing to spend time with him when before, Potter wouldn’t give him the time of day (rightfully so)?

It was infuriating how Potter could still manage to get under Draco’s skin after all these years.

* * *

 

Potter grabbed him after Potions class one day.

“What are you doing?” Draco hissed, hoping his face wasn’t bright pink. He tried to shake Potter off, but Potter had a steel grip on his arm. Draco watched as the other students filed out of the classroom, glancing at them curiously before turning and whispering to their friends. Draco looked Potter in the eye, certain he was blushing now. “Let go of me.”

“No,” Potter said. He glanced briefly at the onlookers, and pulled Draco away.

When they were in a deeper, more isolated part of the dungeons, Potter released him. Draco rubbed at his arm. When did Potter get so strong? He felt his face get hot, or rather, hotter than it was before.

“You know, there are other ways to get one’s attention,” Draco grumbled at the ground.

“Yeah, well, this was easiest.” Potter sounded annoyed. Draco hadn’t heard Potter sound this irritated in years.

Draco sighed. Glanced up. “Go on. You’ve got my attention.”

Potter face softened. “I just…you really think I don’t care about you?”

Draco looked at him in disbelief, momentarily forgetting how much he didn’t want Potter looking at him.

“Did you really drag me over here to ask if I think you care about me?”

Potter had the decency to look embarrassed. “What you said, it’s been bothering me.”

“That was five days ago.”

“I obsess over things, or did you forget?”

Draco remembered sixth year. “No.”

“Well?” Potter crossed his arms.

Draco suppressed a laugh. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Potter, looking like a child, asking the person he’d fought with for six years if he thought he cared about him.

I don’t have time for this, Draco almost said, but he realized Potter would just capture him again. Draco hesitated. He wished he had something to do with his hands, or better yet, that he wasn’t here at all. He settled with leaning his back against the cold wall and crossing his own arms.

“No, Potter, I don’t think you care about me,” Draco finally said. “And I don’t see how that could be a surprise.”

“But I do,” Potter said, and Merlin help him, he sounded genuine.

“We’re not friends, Potter,” Draco sighed. “We’ve spent the past six years making each other’s lives miserable, and I apologize for my part in that, but the past can’t be forgotten so easily. I can’t believe that you would suddenly care about me – you have no reason to.”

Potter’s mouth was open and his brows were furrowed.

“But.” Potter’s shoulders drooped. He uncrossed his arms. “I – we saved each other – we helped each other. Doesn’t that mean anything?”

Draco scoffed. “It means that you’re a Gryffindor, and the Chosen One to boot. Saving people may just be in your blood.”

Potter scowled as Draco said _Chosen One_.

“You saved me.”

Draco hesitated.

“No,” he said, closing his eyes, unwittingly remembering that day. The smell of blood filled his nostrils – no, it wasn’t really, it wasn’t, it wasn’t. He wasn’t bleeding, he was fine, it was over. Draco snapped his eyes open. “I didn’t. I didn’t do anything.”

“You did. You saved me.”

“Stop saying that,” Draco said, his gaze dropping to his hands, remembering how they looked covered in blood. He curled them into fists. “Nothing I did helped anything – I might as well have identified you.”

“But you _didn’t_ ,” Potter said, stepping just a tiny bit closer. Draco stiffened. Potter picked up on it, Draco thought, and sighed. “So…then, what about our conversations? It didn’t feel like we hated each other then. I didn’t hate you.”

“I don’t think a drunken conversation makes up for years of trying to kill each other.”

“But we didn’t hate each other then,” Potter repeated stubbornly.

Draco paused. Potter was right. There was no true animosity at that party; in fact, he didn’t think there had been any at all this entire year.

“Alright,” Draco conceded. “But lack of hatred isn’t the same as caring for someone.”

Potter ran his hands through his hair. Draco wondered when he had picked up this habit; maybe last year, when his hair had grown past its usual length. He was pulled out of his thoughts when Potter spoke loudly.

“I’m not saying it is!” he said wildly. Draco was surprised; he’d gotten used to seeing Potter relatively calm over the past few months. “I’m just saying that what he have goes deeper than a childhood rivalry! And it goes beyond my ‘saving people thing.’ We’ve been through too much together for that, Malfoy. You’re not just some classmate, or some person I saved once. You’re…”

Potter trailed off, his body relaxing as he stared at Draco with a strange look on his face. Draco stared back in retaliation, praying his face wasn’t turning pink.

“I’m what?” Draco asked, trying to keep his voice calm as his heart thudded loudly in his ears.

“I.” Potter shook his head. Stepped back. “I don’t know.”

He looked at Draco for a moment longer, that strange expression still on his face, before he turned and walked away.

“Potter,” Draco called, but he just kept going.

Draco was kind of glad that he did, because he didn’t know what he would have said if he didn’t.

* * *

 

For the next two weeks, Potter ignored him.

Draco agonized over it for a while. He did something wrong. He must have. He scared Potter off by reminding him of how much of a repulsive person he was. How he was deeply flawed and wrong and horrible, and Potter was a saint and savior and all things good, and really just the complete opposite of him.

But then he figured it was only a matter of time before Potter went back to ignoring him. It was too good to be true, really; Potter wasn’t meant to be socializing with someone like him.

* * *

 

Draco was good at staying inside his head and bottling everything up, and Pansy knew this. She worried, and Draco wished she wouldn’t. She kept telling him that she was always there if he needed to talk, as if she’d never told him that before. But even if he did want to talk, what would he say? That he was as depressed as ever but talking to Potter made him feel a bit more normal, at least for a little while? And now that Potter was back to (rightfully) treating him like he didn’t exist, Draco had nothing to relieve him from the numbness and despair that overtook him?

He was mad at himself, really. People aren’t meant to be wholly dependent on others for their source of happiness – Draco knew this, but he had latched onto Potter all the same. It was pathetic. He and Potter hardly even spoke, they didn’t have any semblance of an actual relationship, but Draco latched onto him all the same. And now that Potter was gone, there was nothing that made Draco feel like he was actually alive.

Draco released the smoke from his lungs and shivered. It was getting colder out (big surprise) and Draco had forgotten his scarf in his rush this morning. He had another nightmare; this one had featured Nagini. He wondered if he would ever be free of the taint the Dark Lord left in his house. He wondered if he deserved to be free.

His mind drifted to his mother; he hoped that she was doing well. He had sent her a letter a week ago but she hadn’t written back yet. She also worried about him, and he also wished she wouldn’t. It was much easier to evade his mother than Pansy, however, so he had to be thankful for the little things.

The cigarette burned him.

Cursing softly, he let it fall to the ground in order to examine his fingers. That’s what he got for staying in his head. Draco Vanished the cigarette and stood, brushing himself off. He turned and was greeted by a familiar sight.

He wondered what Potter was doing here at six o’clock on a Saturday morning, staring right at Draco when he hadn’t looked at him fully in weeks. He was standing a few feet away from Draco, his wand and some parchment clutched in his hands.

“Potter.”

“Malfoy,” Potter said.

He looked beautiful.

He was wearing that black hoodie again, though his sleeves weren’t rolled up like last time. It was too cold for that now. His hair was messier than usual (bedhead?), and it blew gently in the wind. There was a look of determination on his face. Draco shivered.

“What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” Potter’s answer was immediate, which surprised Draco almost as much as the answer itself.

“Well,” Draco said slowly, “You’ve found me.”

“Yeah,” Potter said. He stepped closer, green eyes bright. “I realized how ridiculous it was to run away like I did. I think I was just confused – and overwhelmed. To know that someone, that you, feel like I do. Ron and Hermione and the others…they get it, of course, but it doesn’t feel the same. I don’t really understand it, Malfoy, but I feel…connected to you.”

Draco wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Harry Potter felt connected to him, Draco Malfoy, ex-Death Eater. The words echoed in his head over and over again in Potter’s voice.

“And I know that’s also ridiculous because we don’t _really_ know each other, but I reckon we – my point is, would you like to? Get to know each other properly, I mean,” Potter said hurriedly. He flashed a nervous smile. “Because I would.”

Draco blinked in surprise. A strange confrontation, weeks of silence, and now a proposal of friendship? He was dreaming. Or Potter’s logic didn’t work like the logic of most people. Or both.

And all this on top of a complicated rivalry that spanned over six years. Draco didn’t know what to think.

Yes, he desperately wanted to be closer to Potter. He missed the inconsistent, borderline uncomfortable conversations and the way Potter ran his hand through his thick, messy hair and how he helped Draco forget how much he hated himself and living, even if it was just for a bit.

But it was also hard to trust Potter. A sudden offer of friendship after everything that had happened was slightly unsettling, and he had to admit that he was afraid that Potter might have ulterior motives. It might just all be a big joke, a way to humiliate him further.

No. Potter wouldn’t do that. Draco had to believe in the good in Potter, because if he didn’t, what was left?

Draco stuck his arm out, and as Potter looked at it, Draco wondered if he, too, thought back to what happened all those years ago. Potter smiled, an actual toothy smile, and shook Draco’s hand.

A warmness spread through Draco as he smiled back.

* * *

 

Being friends with Harry Potter was strange.

It wasn’t completely different from what they had before. Sometimes he and Potter would simply meet by chance and talk about whatever was convenient at the time.

But sometimes Potter went out of his way to talk to Draco.

He’d started voluntarily sitting next to Draco in Potions. Draco tried to apologize to Blaise, who just rolled his eyes and waved Draco away; he didn’t care. Potter would also join Draco by the lake simply because he knew Draco was there, not because he was just passing by. Draco was curious as to how Potter always seemed to know where he was, but he didn’t ask. He simply enjoyed the company.

Of course, despite this newfound friendship, Draco was in no way cured. He knew depression didn’t work like that; he couldn’t be fixed through simple companionship.

He’d have days when all he could do was snap impatiently at people because he was so irritated, and days where he couldn’t get out of bed, and days where he’d stumble through life in a haze, untouched by everything – completely numb.

And then there were days where death was the only thing on his mind, the only thing he could think about, the only thing he wanted. He would never voice these particular thoughts to Pansy; he knew it would just cause trouble.

The good thing about Potter was that he understood on some level. They never talked explicitly about these particular feelings (besides their drunken conversation on Halloween), but Draco knew Potter had issues of his own. They had a silent, mutual understanding to not bring them up. Draco didn’t know if this was healthy or not, but it worked, and that was good enough for him.

* * *

 

“Ron and Hermione don’t like that we’re friends,” Potter said one day by way of greeting.

He sat down next to Draco with a grunt. Draco cast a sideways glance at him and rolled his eyes. _This_ was the person he had major affections for.

Potter was noisily chewing an apple and paying no mind to the juice that dripped steadily down his arm. He was dressed in his school robes and a lazily wrapped scarf that marked him a Gryffindor from a mile away. He sat cross-legged, less than a foot away from Draco.

Draco put out the cigarette he was smoking (he didn’t think Potter liked it) and looked at him expectantly.

“And why’s that?”

“They told me,” Potter said matter-of-factly, eyes on his apple. “Sort of. They keep asking me about it, saying things like _but why Malfoy_ , _why be friends with_ him. I don’t think they trust you.”

“Well, I don’t blame them, to be perfectly honest,” Draco replied.

Potter turned to frown at him. “They should, though. I trust you. That should be enough.”

“That Gryffindor mindset of ‘if someone I trust trusts someone, then I automatically trust them too’ isn’t sound, Potter. I congratulate Granger and Weasley for not having it,” Draco paused. “Even if it means they’re not happy about this.”

“I want them to be happy about it though,” Potter said. “They’re just letting the past get in the way.”

Draco sighed.

“Like I said, I don’t blame them. There’s lots of bad blood between all of us, and it was usually me being the prejudiced prat.”

“Only usually?” Potter’s lips twitched.

Draco glared at him and Potter laughed. It was a wonderful sound, and Draco basked in it.

“They’re the ones who are always telling me to move on, but here they are, refusing to entertain the idea that you might not be all that bad.” Potter took another huge bite of the apple. “I wish they’d at least be open to it. I thought the whole point of the war was to move away from all these ancient prejudices and unite together and all that.”

“Really? I didn’t realize there were points to wars.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah.”

They lapsed into silence. Draco stared out across the lake, thinking about what Potter had said.

Some cuts just ran too deep; they couldn’t be healed no matter how much time had passed. Horrible, cruel, inhumane things had happened over the war, and Draco was a part of that. He had inflicted those deep cuts on many people, and no amount of begging or pleading or apologizing could make up for it. Sure, as the Wizengamot had said, he was just a child, but just barely. A few months later and he would had faced the full wrath of the courts. He wasn’t being adequately punished for his crimes - by the state, at least.

Although social punishment didn’t do much good either. All the whispers and glares and taunts in the world couldn’t make him pay for what he’d done. And it didn’t even hurt much after a while; what could anyone say to him that he hadn’t said to himself already?

He had gotten used to the noisy crunches of Potter eating the apple, so when they stopped, Draco was pulled out of his thoughts.

Potter had set the core on the grass beside him and was now licking his fingers. Sighing, Draco Vanished his garbage for him.

“Hold your hands out.”

Potter looked up at him and grinned sheepishly. He did as Draco asked, and Draco cast a cleaning spell to rid Potter’s hands of the juice.

“Thanks, Draco.”

He didn’t think he could ever get used to Potter calling him Draco.

“You could learn the spell yourself – or better yet, learn how to eat like the grown man you supposedly are.”

“But then you wouldn’t do it for me,” Potter grinned cheekily. Draco bit his lip to keep from smiling.

“ _Again_ ,” Draco said, looking away because Potter was still giving him that horrible smile, “You’re a grown adult. You should be able to do these things yourself.”

“I count on my friends to do nice things for me,” Potter said. “Like you, and Hermione. You remind me of her, actually. You’re tall and white and a man, but still.”

Draco gave a short laugh. Potter went on, plucking pieces of grass from the ground.

“I want my friends to like each other,” he said wistfully.

Draco felt a deep weight settle in his chest. It was his fault. Of course it was. He opened his mouth to apologize when Potter looked up eagerly.

“I know,” he said excitedly, eyes bright behind his glasses. “We can all go see the match together next week. Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw. What do you think?”

Draco froze, and the weight grew heavier. It sounded like a terrible idea, but he wasn’t about to say so. Potter wanted so badly for all of them to get along, but Draco didn’t know if it was possible. He couldn’t even stand himself; how could he expect the people he’d been horrible to for ages to like him?

His thoughts must have shown on his face because Potter frowned and scooted closer.

“Please? Even if it’s completely horrible it’ll be progress, right? The beginning of tolerance?” He nudged Draco gently. “Right?”

Draco could smell Potter he was so close. Draco swallowed thickly.

“Fine,” Draco said, averting his gaze once again. “But if any one of us dies, you’ll be held responsible.”

Potter grinned. “I can accept that.”

* * *

 

Draco was ripping apart a bread roll when Pansy brought up the game during dinner.

“It’s the second match of the year, Draco,” she said, nudging his foot with her own gently. “Do you want to go?”

He had skipped the first match, Gryffindor vs Slytherin, because it was much easier to stay in bed that day.

“I’ll be going,” Draco said, sticking some bread in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed. “But I’m going with Potter and his friends.”

Pansy raised her eyebrows.

“Really.”

“It was Potter’s idea. He wants us to get along.”

She snorted.

“Now there’s ambition for you.” She studied him seriously for a moment when he didn’t respond. “Well, alright. I’m glad things are going well with you and Potter. This friendship is an improvement over you pining away after him, day after day.”

Draco glared at her.

“I didn’t pine.”

“Draco, that’s all you did for six years,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But really. I’m happy for you. You look better.”

“Thanks.”

* * *

 

The giant knot that had been in his chest since he woke up hadn’t ceased by the time the game was due to start. It took him a while to force himself out of bed, but he was here now.

Potter led him through the busy stands, ignoring the looks passersby gave them. Draco kept his eyes glued on Potter’s back. Potter was wearing a dark red jumper and his Gryffindor scarf today. Draco stared at the jumper, trying to ignore everything else around them.

Finally, Potter stopped and took hold of Draco’s arm, tugging him closer. Draco looked up at the faces of Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.

He felt sick to his stomach. Why did he ever agree to this? Granger and Weasley were bound to continue hating him as they always did, and he couldn’t possibly blame them. Granger was tortured in his house, for Merlin’s sake.

“Malfoy,” Granger said after a brief silence.

“Granger,” he said nervously. “Weasley.”

“Malfoy,” Weasley said.

They stared at him, and he stared back. Granger looked the same as ever, her defiant gaze on him unwavering. Her thick hair was pulled back from her face and she wore a thick Muggle jacket. Weasley stood next to her, arms crossed tightly, looking like some apprehensive bodyguard. His expression was full of suspicion as he stared at Draco, like he might attack them at any moment.

Potter broke the uncomfortable silence.

“Great!” he said too loudly, trying for a smile. It looked more like a grimace. “Let’s all sit down, we shouldn’t, er, crowd the area.”

And so they sat, Granger and Weasley on one side of Potter, and Draco on the other.

He still felt sick, but Potter’s warmth and scent comforted him slightly. He resisted the urge to move closer to Potter; who knew what the reactions to that would be.

Draco glanced nervously at Granger and Weasley. They were talking amongst themselves, heads bent towards each other. Potter saw him looking, and Draco couldn’t hide the worry on his face.

“They won’t bite, y’know.”

“Maybe they should,” Draco grimaced. “Well, not bite. Just…get angry. Maybe Granger can slap me like she did in third year. Or maybe punch me. I think that’d be better than this.” He gestured vaguely.

Potter gave a small smile. “If you really want her to, I could ask her.”

Draco glared at him. “Don’t you dare. It took thirteen-year-old me weeks to get over that.”

“Even better,” Potter laughed. “You’ll get to see how much you’ve grown, and Hermione might feel better.”

Granger’s head turned at that.

“I might what?” she asked sharply.

“You might feel better after punching Draco,” Potter said. When Granger tensed, he added quickly, “I’m kidding. No one’s punching anyone. We’re all adults, and the past is in the past, as you like to say.”

Granger gave Potter a slightly disapproving look at that.

“But if it would make you feel better, you _can_ punch me, Granger,” Draco added nervously, half-serious. “I’d deserve it, after all.”

Granger softened. “I’m not going to do that, Malfoy. Even if you did deserve it.”

He was trying to think of something to say ( _you’re a better person that I ever will be, Granger_ , for instance) when Weasley piped up.

“I will.”

Draco froze, and then he saw a wide grin spread over Weasley’s face.

“I’m kidding, Malfoy,” Weasley said. He turned serious; it was off-putting. “Harry’s right - we’re not kids anymore.”

“Right,” Draco said. He cleared his throat. If he didn’t say it now, he feared he never would. “Still, I’d like to apologize to you both for the way I treated you. There’s no excusing the things I said and did, and I feel terrible about it. I hope you can find some way to forgive me someday, but if not, I understand completely.”

Weasley blinked, and Granger gave a kind smile.

“Thank you for saying that,” she said. “You’re right. I can’t forgive you, not now, but hopefully I’ll be able to someday.”

“Yeah,” Weasley added, recovering from his shock. “I doubt we’ll ever be best mates, Malfoy, but I appreciate it. And if Harry likes you, I guess you can’t be all that bad.”

Draco couldn’t help but smile at their Gryffindor logic and optimism.

* * *

 

“So,” Potter said.

“So,” Draco repeated.

They were walking back to the castle after the game. Granger and Weasley were with a larger group further back, leaving the two to talk privately. Every time their elbows bumped, a small thrill went through Draco. If it wasn’t obvious before, Draco had it bad.

“So no one died.” Potter stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I knew we could do it.”

“I’m glad your standards were that low,” Draco said, “Because if they weren’t, I’m not sure we could have.”

“Point is, we did,” Potter said, looking at him, a playful smile on his face. “We all joked about punching you in the face and you made your formal apologies and we watched a good match, so I think it went pretty well.”

Draco wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“Do you think Weasley really wants to hit me?” he asked tentatively.

Potter looked surprised. “No! No, really. I think he got it out of his system.”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, er, well.” Potter scratched his head nervously. “Do you remember during the battle, when a Death Eater was trying to hurt you but someone stopped them? And then you got punched?”

He did. He flushed; he didn’t know Potter had seen that. Draco nodded, wanting to get to the point.

“That was Ron. He punched you.”

Draco stumbled just a bit.

“What? How?”

“I have an Invisibility Cloak,” Potter said, watching Draco’s face carefully. “And after I got rid of that Death Eater, Ron, er, went for it. Called you a bastard, I think.”

But Draco didn’t really hear anything past Potter saying he saved him again.

“You saved me then too?”

Potter ducked his head.

“Perfect,” Draco said, scowling at his feet. “That’s just what I needed, to be even further indebted to you.”

“What? No, Draco, you don’t owe me anything.” Draco looked up; Potter was looking at him seriously again. “You know me, I have that ‘saving people thing.’ I don’t care. No, that’s not right. I do care, I care about helping people, but I’m not keeping tallies of who I helped and how many times. That doesn’t matter to me. I don’t need anything in return. I just don’t like seeing people get hurt.”

Draco couldn’t help but stare. He couldn’t believe someone so wholesome and good could exist in this shit world. Potter cocked his head, but Draco didn’t stop. He wanted so badly to take that beautiful face in his hands and kiss Potter right then and there, but then he would most certainly get punched.

Instead, he settled for shaking his head and telling Potter that he was unbelievable.

* * *

 

Pansy raised her eyebrows at Draco when he returned to the Slytherin common room later that evening. She had been reading in an arm chair in a secluded corner. He sat down next to her and she put her book down on the arm rest.

“How were the Gryffindors?”

“Not too bad, actually,” Draco answered. “I don’t know if they’ll ever actually like me but I appreciated their effort.”

Pansy hummed. Draco turned to look at her.

“What?”

She hesitated and took his hands in her own.

“I want you to be happy, Draco,” she said. “I don’t want you to hang around these people if they aren’t making you happy. You come first.”

What did he ever do to deserve her?

He gave her hands a squeeze, trying to convey how much he appreciated her dealing with him.

“I’m the happiest I’ve been in a while, Pansy,” Draco said truthfully. “Really. And even though being around Weasley and Granger brings up things I don’t want to think about, Potter makes it worth it.”

Pansy sighed. “If you’re sure. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know. But I have to believe Potter’s a good person, because if not him, who else?”

“Draco.” She paused, then spoke carefully. “What if you’re building him up to be this perfect hero with absolutely no flaws?”

Draco looked at her in surprise; she saw but went on, speaking faster than before.

“I mean, yes, he saved the world and all that rot but you can’t just forget what he’s done before he killed…Him.” She paused, biting her lip. “You two have got a long, complicated past, and I feel like you might be ignoring it, or ignoring what he’s done to you at least, and just seeing this idealized version of him instead.”

Draco was surprised, and quite hurt, to be honest.

“I’m not ignoring it,” he said sharply, snatching his hands back from her. Her eyes widened, but he kept going, driven by his own shock. “How could I possibly ignore it, Pansy? I know he’s not perfect, I know we’ve got a fucked up past, even before the war. I can’t forget the bad things he’s done to me, and I certainly can’t forget what I’ve done to him. But I’m not forgetting the good, either. He’s saved my life repeatedly when he never needed to. He’s been a decent person to me when he has no reason to. I’m not ignoring anything.”

Pansy didn’t say anything for a bit. Draco wondered if the others in the room were staring at them. His cheeks burned, but he didn’t move. He just kept staring at Pansy, who stared back. Finally, she spoke in a cool, even voice as she picked up her book.

“Ok. Fine. If you say so.”

“I do,” he snapped, and left the common room.

* * *

 

His irritation bubbled and grew as Draco made his way out of the castle. He hardly noticed his surroundings as he stalked through the nearly deserted halls; dinner was already over.

He was itching for a smoke and solitude; he needed to calm down before he faced Pansy again.

He hadn’t fought with her in ages. He thought the last time they argued was during sixth year, when she tried to get him to tell her what he was doing. He refused, she got frustrated, and he got frustrated in return.

That time Draco could blame it on the Dark Lord. It was out of fear for the lives of his family that he couldn’t utter a word about what he had to do. That time, it was clear who the guilty party was.

It was much less so this time.

The crisp air greeted him sharply as he stepped outside. Shivering, he withdrew his wand to cast a warming charm on himself. It helped marginally.

Draco took out his pack as he walked down to the lake. He had just lit his cigarette when he stopped himself short, ten feet from the water’s edge.

He hadn’t expected Potter to be standing there, wrapped up in that scarf of his, hands in his pockets. Potter turned at the sound of Draco’s footsteps and smiled softly. Draco walked over to him, taking a deep drag as he did so. As he got closer, he noticed that Potter was wearing a dark knit cap, and that he looked (predictably) wonderful in it. Draco exhaled slowly, watching the smoke as it left his mouth.

“What are you doing here at this time of night?” Draco asked, remembering their first conversation at this same spot.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Potter said, his eyes flashing over to Draco.

“Yes, well, I asked first.” He took another pull.

“Fine.” He kicked a rock near his feet; it flew into the lake with a loud splash. “Ron and Hermione still aren’t convinced that we should be friends.”

Draco gave a humorless laugh. “For once, Pansy would agree with them.”

Potter turned to look at him. “Really?”

Draco nodded. He stuck his free hand in his pocket; he felt like a fool for not having gloves or a hat or a scarf or anything else a normal person would have in this weather.

“Well,” Potter said. “That’s frustrating. I guess it was thick of me to think that we could all be mates but I’m still...do they just think we’re dumb for trying?”

Draco raised his eyebrows. Just trying?

“I wasn’t aware that we were still just _trying_ to be friends, Potter,” he said, attempting to keep the ice out of his tone.

“No, of course not. We _are_ friends,” Potter said, blinking at him with wide eyes. “I just meant they don’t seem to think so. Ron and Hermione, at least. It’s like they’re under the impression that we’re trying but it’s doomed to fail. Like it’s impossible just because we were shits to each other when we were kids.”

“Pansy thinks it’s impossible too,” Draco sighed. He felt his irritation rise. “Like I’m just ignoring or forgetting everything that’s happened before. But I’m not.”

Draco took another drag. Potter seemed to be deep in thought.

“I don’t think either of us can forget,” he finally said.

Draco nodded. He knew he never would.

Potter frowned and began unwrapping his scarf. He pulled it free from his neck and held it out to Draco, who looked down at it in surprise.

“You’re cold.”

Draco was about to deny it before he noticed his hand shaking.

“Won’t you be cold?” he said instead.

Potter shook his head. “I’m fine. Take it.”

Draco stared at it, unable to think of anything to say. He didn’t want to have to take it; Potter shouldn’t have to be uncomfortable just because of his forgetfulness. But he did know that he was cold, and Potter was offering, and the scarf would surely smell like him…

“You always have to be the big sodding hero, don’t you?” he grumbled as he took it.

Potter simply smiled. Draco stuck his cigarette in his mouth to wrap it around his neck. He reveled in its warmth, and he took the cig in his hand once more.

“You’ve probably got a kitten to save, or an old witch to help across the street,” Draco said, rambling a little because of his nerves. “Shouldn’t be wasting time on some no-good ex-Death Eater.”

“Stop it,” Potter said sharply. “That’s not who you are.”

Draco rolled his eyes and stuck out a hand.

“Hello, I’m Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy name, one that’s been associated with death and torture and prejudice and being Death Eaters for ages. Nice to meet you. Did I mention we personally had the Dark Lord as a house guest, and that I’ve also almost murdered several people?”

Potter looked at him in surprise before saying, “And I’m Harry Potter. I’m known for not dying when I was a baby and for murdering someone. But, y’know, I think there’s more to me than just that, and I think it might be the same for you.” He shook Draco’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“It’s not the same,” Draco scowled, his irritation rising once more. He took his hand back. “You’re a good person, Potter. You didn’t just murder anyone, you murdered the person who was waging war on most of the world. You _saved_ it. But me.” Draco’s hand trembled as he took a drag. “I was on the wrong fucking side. I was on _His_ side. I…you don’t even know the worst of what I’ve done, Potter.”

“I might.”

Draco looked up, startled. Potter’s eyes were on him, his face grave.

“How could you?” Draco asked suspiciously.

Potter lifted his hand to his forehead absentmindedly. His eyes were unfocused as he stared out over Draco’s shoulder.

“I was…connected to Voldemort.” Draco flinched, but Potter paid it no mind. “I could see what he was seeing sometimes…think what he was thinking, feel what he was feeling. It was…well, the point is, I saw what he forced you to do – use the Cruciatus Curse. I saw...”

They lingered on the unpleasant memory. Potter, strangely enough, looked just as shaken as Draco felt.

“But I _did_ mention the attempted murder, right?” Draco asked. His fingers shook as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth, and he doubted it was because of the cold. “I think that might trump torture.”

“I was there. That night,” Potter said, his eyes meeting Draco’s own. “With Dumbledore. I saw you lower your wand.”

Draco took another drag, hating himself. He couldn’t believe Potter was somehow always present during his weakest moments. Potter just had to be there to see the worst of him. Draco wanted to go, to run away, to never show his face in front of Potter again.

“Maybe they’re right,” Draco said slowly, avoiding eye contact. “Maybe we can’t be friends, given our past. It’s just too messy and I’m too bad and wrong and I’m sorry-“

Draco started to turn to leave but Potter grabbed his arm roughly. Potter’s eyes, especially bright against the dark of the evening, were staring intensely into Draco’s own. His eyebrows were furrowed and his jaw was clenched. Draco wanted to look away, but he couldn’t.

“You’re not bad,” Potter nearly growled. “You were put in difficult situations and forced to do difficult things. It was all out of your control.”

Draco shook his head. He had made bad decisions all on his own. Nobody forced him to be a cruel teenager, a downright foul person. He was terrible before he even took the Mark. He couldn’t just blame it all on the Dark Lord.

“You can’t just excuse it all,” Draco said angrily. “I’m not a good person, Potter. I never was, and I never will be. Even if I didn’t have this fucking Mark on me, I wouldn’t be good. I almost killed your best friend, for Merlin’s sake, and Granger was tortured in my own bloody home!”

“Stop it.” Potter’s grip on his arm tightened.

“Nothing to say to that? Nothing to prove that I’m not a pathetic excuse of a human being?” Draco bit out, hoping his voice wasn’t shaking. “It’s alright, Potter. It’s not your job to make me feel better.”

Draco brought the cigarette to his lips with his free hand, eyes on Potter as he breathed in.

“But I want to,” Potter said.

“Fuck, Potter, you shouldn’t,” Draco interrupted. “It doesn’t make sense. You’re mad.”

“Draco,” Potter said sharply, his grip tightening again, fingernails digging into Draco’s arm. Draco smiled. “You shouldn’t feel this way about yourself. We’ve all had to do things that we never wanted to do. The war’s fucked all of us up, and maybe none of us are _really_ back to normal. Maybe none of us have actually forgotten all about it, like we thought. The others might just be better at hiding it than we are. The war’s affected all of us in different ways, but Draco, you can’t think you’re inherently bad. You were pushed, like everyone else.”

“Stop trying to defend my actions, Potter,” Draco said. “It’s different. You and all your mates, you did what you had to do because _He_ and the rest of the Death Eaters were trying to kill you over and over again. It was a noble cause, but me? It was just so _I_ could live, so _I_ could avoid getting tortured, so _my_ family could live. I wasn’t fighting to save the world. I was hurting others to save myself.”

Draco took one last pull before throwing it away. He was breathing hard; he had never voiced these particular thoughts to this extent before.

“You were fighting for your family,” Potter said. “I think that’s noble.”

Draco resisted the urge to pull his hair out.

“You’re unbelievable,” he told Potter for the second time that day.

“And you’re beautiful,” Potter said, and kissed him on the lips.

Draco’s heart stopped. His shoulders tensed; he could hardly register what was happening. Before he could even respond, Potter pulled away, releasing his hold on Draco’s arm as he did so. Potter looked mortified, his eyes everywhere but Draco as he stumbled backwards.

“S-sorry,” he stammered. “Merlin, that was – I’m sorry, that was, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No,” Draco managed to say. He cleared his throat. “I’m glad you did. I just wasn’t expecting it, what with....”

Draco didn’t know what to say. The arguing? The fact that he’s Draco Malfoy? The fact that it was Harry Potter who was kissing him, someone who didn’t even like blokes (to Draco’s knowledge, anyway. Or did he actually? Or was this just an experiment?).

Potter’s eyes found Draco’s, and Draco’s thoughts got mixed up.

“Oh,” Potter said. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Potter said, stepping closer, “Can I kiss you again?”

“Yes,” Draco said, and this time, he was ready.

Potter kissed enthusiastically, passionately, just like Draco always imagined he would. Draco kissed back, open-mouthed, trying to put as much feeling into it as possible; he rested his hands tentatively on Potter’s chest, the cloth soft underneath his fingers and palms. Potter was warm and he felt good, tasted good, and he forgot what they were even arguing about a few minutes ago.

They parted, but just barely.

“You.” Potter’s breath was hot on Draco’s lips. “You taste like cigarettes.”

“Sorry,” Draco said.

“Don’t be,” Potter said, and kissed him again.

* * *

 

Po – no, _Harry_ was sitting at the Gryffindor table with Weasley and Granger. Harry had insisted that if they were to be kissing, Draco had to call him by his given name. Draco agreed, of course. It felt strange to say it, but he figured he would get used to it soon enough.

It was harder to get used to the fact that he and P- Harry were kissing in the first place. That he and Harry had crossed the line of friendship into some unknown territory.

It didn’t feel real. After all these years of harboring a secret affection, something had come of it. Harry returned these feelings. Draco couldn’t understand why; he wanted so badly to ask _why why why_ that first night they kissed, but he didn’t want to ruin it.

It’d been two days since that night. He and Harry hadn’t gotten much of a chance to talk since then; last night, they met at the same place by the lake. This was where Harry insisted that Draco call him Harry; this was where Draco agreed, and this was where they spent the next half an hour kissing, shielded by the dark of the night.

They had Potions together tomorrow, and Draco was filled with a nervous energy. He didn’t know what to expect, but fortunately, he was more excited than anxious.

He was shaken out of his thoughts when Pansy sat down next to him.

They hadn’t spoken since their argument two nights before. Draco had tried and failed to get her alone to talk about what had happened; Pansy would leave if it was just the two of them anywhere, not even bothering to make up an excuse. They had sat next to each other in Defense against the Dark Arts, but otherwise, it was like he didn’t even exist.

Draco wondered if this was going to be the case again, when Pansy turned toward him, a troubled expression on her face.

“Draco.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I was out of line. You’re an adult, and I have to trust that you can make the right decisions on your own. I was just worried about you…but if you say your relationship with Potter isn’t unhealthy, then I believe you.”

Excitement tentatively bubbled up in him.

“No, I’m sorry,” Draco said, turning toward her fully. “I was too harsh, and you know how much of an arse I can be. And I know you worry, and it means a lot to me, to know how much you care, but I know I’m right about this.”

Pansy sighed again. “Ok. Like I said, I believe you.”

“Thank you, Pansy.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand.

“Glad to see you two are talking again.”

They both started and looked over at Blaise, who was observing them with a satisfied expression on his face.

“Oh, shut it, Blaise,” Pansy said, but she was smiling.

* * *

 

“Oho! I see you and Mr. Malfoy continue to make quite a team!” Professor Slughorn beamed as he peered into their cauldron. “Very well done!”

“Thank you, Sir, but I’m afraid it’s mostly Draco who does the actual potion-making,” said Harry, nodding at Draco. “I just help when I can.”

Draco shook his head. “No, Sir, Potter’s just being modest.”

Slughorn chuckled. “Well, either way, excellent job as always! Five points to both Gryffindor and Slytherin.”

As Slughorn walked away to examine the others’ cauldrons, Harry nudged Draco.

“What happened to calling me Harry?” he asked lowly.

“Don’t you think just about everyone would find it odd if I suddenly started calling you Harry?” Draco replied, beginning to clean up their area.

“They didn’t care when we started sitting next to each other, or when I started calling you Draco,” Harry said.

“Well, that’s you, isn’t it?” Draco said calmly, focused on cleaning. “You’re a friendly Gryffindor, determined to be chummy with everyone, house unity and all that, whereas I-”

“Have to keep up the tradition of being a snobby, cold Slytherin?” Harry interrupted, rolling his eyes. “No one’s forcing you.”

“I resent that,” Draco said. “We’re not cold or snobby. We simply like our space. And our Housemates.”

“Well, the Sorting Hat almost put me in Slytherin, so we could be honorary Housemates,” Harry said.

Draco finally gave Harry his full attention, stunned by what he had just said.

“What?”

“It’s true,” Harry said smugly. “The Sorting Hat said I’d do well in Slytherin, but I asked to be in Gryffindor, so here we are.”

Draco studied Harry, trying to see if he was taking the piss. Harry, a Slytherin?

“Why did you ask to be in Gryffindor?”

“Well I’d just met you, hadn’t I?” Harry grinned. “I didn’t want to be anywhere near you.”

“Thanks,” Draco said, slightly hurt.

“Oh, come on,” Harry said, his grin slipping a little. He nudged Draco again. “You can’t blame me. I was new to the Wizarding world, and when I met you, you made me feel so clueless, and you insulted my first friend! I didn’t have a great first impression.”

“Your first friend?” Draco asked, forgetting his irritation.

“Hagrid,” Harry said.

“Your first magical friend, you mean.”

“No, my first friend.”

“Harry-“ Draco began to say, but Harry cut him off.

“Not here,” Harry said firmly. He could probably tell Draco was going to protest, so he said, “Later. I don’t want to talk about this now.”

Draco agreed begrudgingly, though the worried thoughts that flew through his mind did not cease.

They sat in tense silence for a moment, and then Slughorn addressed the entire class.

“Splendid work,” he said. “I daresay this was the most successful class yet! But I won’t keep you any longer. Don’t forget to clean up after yourselves before you leave.”

Noise filled the room as students began clearing their areas and packing up.

“Harry,” Draco began saying again.

“Not –“ Harry said, stuffing his notes (far too aggressively) into his bag.

“Not now, I know,” Draco said calmly. “But when?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, looking up. His face was unusually expressionless; it sent a chill down Draco’s spine. “I’ll find you. Tonight.”

“Harry-“

“I’ll see you tonight,” Harry said.

And before Draco could say another word, Harry went to catch Weasley and Granger as they exited the classroom.

* * *

 

Draco knew Harry could find him anywhere (though he still didn’t know how Harry managed to do so), but he made his way to the lake after revising with Pansy and Blaise in the library. Draco sat himself down and pulled out a cigarette.

As he sat there, breathing in the smoke evenly, he congratulated himself on remembering to dress appropriately. He wore gloves and Harry’s Gryffindor scarf, which he kept “forgetting” to return. He’d hidden the scarf beneath his robes while in the library and the Hall; he didn’t know what people would make of him wearing a Gryffindor scarf.

He was there ten minutes before Harry showed up. Harry might have shown up earlier, truthfully, as Draco didn’t even notice his presence until he sat down next to him. Draco looked over in surprise, but didn’t say anything. It wasn’t often that he saw Harry so upset.

“My childhood isn’t what everything thinks,” Harry said after what seemed like minutes of silence. He was staring at a patch of dirt a foot away from him. “I didn’t have friends. I couldn’t, really, since my cousin, Dudley, made sure everyone at school hated me. He and his friends bullied me all the time. It got better once I found out I was a wizard, but before Hogwarts…”

Draco felt cold inside. He reached over to grasp Harry’s hand with his free hand. Harry didn’t look up, but Draco thought he felt a gentle squeeze.

“I don’t know who was worse, really, between him and my uncle and my aunt. They all hated me, they all wanted me gone. They just had different ways of showing it.” Harry rubbed absently at his neck. “I don’t live with them anymore, thank Merlin, but I can’t let it go. I mean, I know what they did was wrong, but sometimes…I just keep remembering everything they said and did and I…I believe it. I believe that I’m a waste of space or I’m useless or a burden or whatever else they told me I was.”

Harry took a deep breath.

“It’s like the war. I can’t stop thinking about it. I wish I could. I hate when it comes back but it always does, and I try to just forget about it, to just move on, but I can’t. And it’s even worse at night, when I have nightmares about it…I can’t help what I dream, y’know?”

Draco didn’t know what to say. What could one possibly say to something like this? He thought about this cousin of Harry’s, this aunt and uncle. He felt anger rise within him; how could they be so cruel to a child, to Harry? He wanted to find them, hunt them down, make them pay for what he did. His grip on Harry’s hand tightened.

“Draco…”

He loosened his grip, surprised at himself. The cigarette was on the ground, nearly broken in half. Draco stared at it for a moment, then at Harry. He looked nervous, tentative, and almost ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said. “I’m – I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what that must have been like, for them to make you feel that way…but Harry, you’re not useless. You matter _so much_ and I need you to know that – to hear it. Even if you don’t believe it.”

Harry looked away; Draco couldn’t read his face. And then Draco realized something, his chest sinking as he did so.

“I never knew, I never even thought to find out, I just assumed you had a perfect life and I was so wrong, I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

“Stop,” Harry said, finally speaking. “I don’t - I don’t tell people, and this is why. I’m not the same kid in the cupboard. I have people who love me now, and I just have to remember that I’m not in that situation anymore.”

“The cupboard?”

Harry winced. “They kept me in a cupboard until I was eleven.”

Draco was horrified; there was no other word for it.

“How the _fuck_ – Harry, what the _fuck_ ,” Draco sputtered angrily. “How did those Muggles get away with that? How are they _alive_ right now?”

He was seething. Harry squeezed Draco’s hand.

“It’s over with. It’s done.”

That seemed far from true.

“I don’t believe you, Harry,” Draco said, and his heart ached as they looked at each other.

“It’s done,” Harry repeated.

He was expressionless again and Draco hated it, he hated Harry’s sick family; he wanted the Harry he was used to – cheeky, flustered, laughing, honest, brave. Not haunted. Not thinking that he was a waste of space. Draco didn’t know how to help. What could he possibly do?

“You’re still wearing my scarf.”

Draco’s heart was still pounding with anger, thudding loudly in his ears, but he tried to process what Harry was saying. When he did, he reached up to touch the soft material.

Fine. If Harry didn’t want to talk about it, that was fine.

“You never asked for it back,” Draco said stiffly.

“True,” said Harry. His smile was forced. “It looks good on you.”

Draco scoffed.

“It does.” The smile looked more natural now. Harry reached over to touch the scarf; Draco shivered despite himself. “This is the closest we’ll ever get to a Gryffindor Draco Malfoy.”

“I should hope so.”

Harry’s hand moved up to caress Draco’s face gently. Draco closed his eyes at the touch, and a second later, Harry’s warm lips were on his own. Draco kissed back though his chest was heavy and he couldn’t get the image of Harry’s dejected face out of his head.

It was a gentle kiss; less messy, less energetic.

They parted. Harry’s bright eyes were on Draco, intense as ever. Draco realized that this was the second time they’d avoided uncomfortable conversations through kissing. He didn’t know what to make of that.

“I really like you,” Harry said suddenly.

“I really like you too,” Draco returned, caught off guard. Then he thought, if this is what Harry wanted – to be distracted – Draco could give that to him. He could do that for him. “I have for too long, to be honest.”

Harry’s eyes lit up.

“Really?”

Draco nodded. Fine. It was fine. “It’s embarrassing.”

“No, tell me,” Harry pleaded. “Since when?”

“I think it was a fully formed crush – and I _hate_ that word – by fifth year,” Draco admitted. Harry’s mouth opened, halfway between a gasp and a smile. The weight of his chest lifted just a bit. Draco looked away; his face felt hot. “I told you it was embarrassing.”

“No, not embarrassing. Cute,” Harry said. He was definitely smiling now - Draco was relieved to see it. “Merlin, I never knew.”

“Well that’s no surprise,” Draco muttered.

Harry leaned over to kiss him. Draco threaded his fingers through Harry’s hair as he kissed him back, still surprised at how soft it was. Harry pulled away, but instead of straightening back to his original positon, he laid down in the grass and rested his head in Draco’s lap. Draco smiled slightly and resumed playing with Harry’s hair. He almost felt at peace, sitting here, gazing at the stars above him with Harry to accompany him.

“So…so how long have you known that you liked blokes?” Harry asked softly. When Draco hesitated, he added, “You don’t have to tell me.”

“No, it’s fine,” Draco said. He thought a moment, wondering how he would answer. “It didn’t take that long for me to figure out I was gay. I feel like I had an inkling for ages, but I was around twelve when I really figured it out. I wrote to my mother in a panic, asking her if it was alright and all that.” Draco scoffed, remembering how foolish it all seemed now. “She wrote back straight away, telling me that of course it was fine, but was I sure? But really, I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”

“Wow,” Harry said, and Draco couldn’t see his face, but he could hear the awe in Harry’s voice. “It took me ages to realize that I was bi. The Dursleys – my aunt and uncle and cousin – only talked about straight and gay people. And they only ever spoke about gay people to say how horrible and disgusting they were. I didn’t even know other sexualities existed. I actually had to go to Hermione and ask her all about it.” He laughed a little. “She was happy to help, of course, but she was so flustered.”

Draco laughed too, trying to picture it in his head.

“When was that?” he asked.

“When I was seventeen,” Harry admitted.

“Seventeen?” Draco repeated, shocked.

“It never even occurred to me that it was something out of the ordinary - being attracted to blokes, I mean. It was just, I was attracted to women and sure, I’d get the same feelings for men but I just brushed it off.”

“What led to your, well, epiphany?” Draco asked.

“I’m not really sure,” Harry said, his voice slightly muffled. “I mean, I was obsessed with you during sixth year, and I think your, er, appearance might’ve been part of that. But there’d been people before you…but I think what really did it was seeing Charlie during the summer. I’d met him before, but then…revisiting that feeling of _oh, he’s attractive_ when I was older helped me understand. Seeing him again made me realize it all at once, like _oh_ , I find men attractive. That was when I went to Hermione for help.”

“Well,” Draco said, taking it all in, “I’m glad I could be a small part of that.”

“Small part of it?” Harry scoffed. “Draco, I’ve been thinking that you’re an annoying git for years, but I’ve also been thinking that you’re a really attractive git for half that time. It was confusing.”

Draco never would have guessed. It was strange to think that Harry had thought he was attractive, especially during sixth year when he was at his worst – both physically and mentally.

He focused on Harry again.

“And then,” Harry continued, more nervous than before, “That day after Potions, when I tried to get you to talk to me-“

“When you manhandled me and forced me to talk to you,” Draco put in.

“That was when I realized I liked you,” Harry plowed on. “More than friends, more than _he’s pretty but he’s an arse_. And it scared me, and I ran. I’m sorry.”

Draco blinked. He hadn’t realized. It made sense, now that Harry said it…Draco remembered how Harry had trailed off, how he had gotten that strange look on his face when he tried to say what Draco was to him.

“It’s fine,” Draco said. “Although, I must say, that wasn’t very Gryffindor of you.”

“Yeah, well, I’m allowed to have my off days.”

And then Draco realized what Harry had just said; that he was pretty. He felt his face grow warm.

“But back to you calling me pretty…”

Harry turned his head to look up at him. He cocked an eyebrow. “You like that?”

Draco answered by leaning down and kissing him hard. Harry made a small noise and sat up slightly, Draco moving with him seamlessly. Harry opened his mouth and Draco’s tongue found its way in as they continued to kiss. When Draco pulled back, he was pleased to see Harry enthralled.

“Merlin, you’re so pretty, Draco,” Harry said, eyes bright as he sat up fully and moved closer. He continued talking in a breathy voice that went straight to Draco’s cock. “You’re so beautiful, it kills me every time I see you, I still can’t believe how fucking beautiful you are…”

 _Fuck._ Draco pushed Harry to the ground, where he looked up at Draco with shining eyes. Draco leaned down, his cock hard, and he kissed Harry again. His hand moved down Harry’s torso and found his cock; with a thrill he realized that Harry was just as hard as he was. Harry let out a low moan as Draco stroked it through Harry’s trousers, which reminded Draco of where they were.

Draco kissed him once more before taking back his hand and dropping to the ground himself, right next to Harry.

“Why’d you stop?” Harry asked, breathless.

He had turned to look at Draco; his pupils were dilated and his lips were swollen. Draco felt elation rush through him despite the aching in his trousers.

“Because we’re in public, at school, where anyone could see us,” Draco answered.

Harry sighed loudly.

“I’m not happy about it either.”

They laid there a few minutes, staring at the stars above them and listening to each other breathe.

Draco’s mind wandered to the inevitable: what was this? They were friends, yes, but that was their label before they began all _this_. Was Harry really willing to commit to and date an ex-Death Eater? Or was this just a short-lived fling, to be forgotten as soon as it ended - some sort of adventure for the Chosen One before he settled down for good?

Draco didn’t think he could handle that; no, he was absolutely sure he couldn’t. He had gotten himself dependent on Harry again, going against all the warnings his own mind gave him. Something twisted in his stomach, making him feel sick and nervous and, oh Merlin, like this was all a huge mistake. This train of thought wasn’t what he needed.

“Harry,” he said softly when he couldn’t stand it any longer.

His heart thudded in his ears. He wondered if Harry could hear it in the quiet of the night.

“Hmm?” He sounded tired.

“What…what is this?”

Draco watched as Harry’s eyes opened, and as he turned toward Draco and propped himself up on his elbow.

“This?”

“This.” Draco gestured between the both of them.

“Oh,” Harry said. He frowned. “Well, I mean, I figured we were dating.”

The twisty feeling in his stomach disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“Right,” Draco breathed. He exhaled again. “I was just making sure.”

Harry worried his lip. He seemed to know what Draco had been thinking.

“You don’t need to worry about that, Draco. I respect you too much for that.”

Draco nodded, wondering why, wondering if it was true.

Harry looked at him a bit longer. Then he sat up.

“Come on. It’s getting late.” Harry stood and extended a hand down to Draco.

Draco sat up and took it. As he brushed himself off, he looked around at the ground.

“What is it?”

He didn’t answer until he had found what he’d been looking for.

“This,” Draco said as he picked up his bent cigarette. “I may be many things, but I’m no litterer.”

He withdrew his wand to Vanish it, and looked up to find Harry’s eyes on him.

“What?” he asked defensively, stowing his wand away.

“Nothing,” Harry said. He held out his hand again. “Come on.”

Draco hesitated this time.

“What if…”

What if someone saw them? He wasn’t ashamed of Harry – no, he was ashamed of himself.

Harry considered him a moment. He seemed to come to a decision, and then began patting his cloak, apparently looking for something. He withdrew something shimmery. Draco looked at it curiously, stepping closer.

“What is that?”

Harry gave a sly smile. He shook it out, whatever it was, and threw it over the both of them.

“Is this what I think it is?” Draco asked, unable to hide the awe in his voice as he studied the fabric.

“Yeah,” said Harry. His body radiated warmth. “Invisibility Cloak. Now you know one of the secrets to my success.”

“Just one of them?” Draco asked, flabbergasted. “Is this how you got away with breaking so many rules the past six years? Maybe you’re not as saint-like as I had thought.”

Harry laughed and took Draco’s hand. “Come on.”

“I guess you really could be a Slytherin.”

* * *

 

It was a week after Draco had regularly begun slipping into their dormitory late at night that Blaise confronted him.

Draco woke up late Saturday morning to an apparently empty dorm. He reflected that he had been sleeping much better lately, having been able to sleep for longer amounts of time and with fewer interruptions. Draco laid there with these pleasant revelations for a few minutes before throwing back the curtain that surrounded his bed.

Blaise was standing there, casually buttoning up his spotless, creaseless shirt.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” said Blaise.

“Morning, Blaise,” Draco said uncertainly. He got out of bed and smoothed down his hair instinctively. “Where’s Theo?”

He was the only other male eighth year in Slytherin. Vincent, of course, had passed (Draco still had very conflicted and painful feelings on this subject) and Gregory had left the country with his mother (his father being in Azkaban).

“He’s already gone down to breakfast,” Blaise answered. He finished buttoning his shirt and summoned his necktie, catching it smoothly. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Alright,” Draco said. _You’re making me nervous_ , he wanted to say. He kept his mouth shut and watched Blaise begin to put on his necktie.

“Why have you been sneaking in late every night for the past week?”

“Oh,” Draco said, “Well.”

“I understand it’s none of my business,” Blaise said, tightening his tie sharply, “But I’m curious, and you have woken me up once or twice.”

“I’ve been with someone,” Draco forced out.

Blaise nodded knowingly. “I figured. Could you do me the pleasure of telling me who it is?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Draco said. “It’s still quite new.”

“Say no more,” Blaise said. “I understand. Well, regardless, I recommend you tell Pansy soon if she doesn’t know already, because if she finds out that you’ve been seeing someone without her knowledge, she’ll be mad at you all over again.”

“I know,” Draco sighed. “I just also know that she won’t like it.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “If it’s Potter…”

Draco panicked internally. He rubbed at his neck. He wondered momentarily if Harry had left any love bites visible. He had Harry’s scarf stuffed deep in his trunk, away from prying eyes, so he knew it couldn’t be that.

“How’d you know?”

“I didn’t until now, though I had guessed…” Blaise said. At the look on Draco’s face, he smiled and said, “Calm down, I’m not going to tell Pansy.” Blaise considered him a moment, the smile still playing at his lips. “Potter, hm? He is handsome…a stubborn Gryffindor, but still, I can see the appeal.”

“He’s taken, mind you,” Draco said, glaring at him.

Blaise laughed and raised his hands.

“I know, Draco, I’m just making simple observations.” He turned away. “Anyway, hurry up if you want to get breakfast.”

“I will,” said Draco, and went to change into his clothes, his heart still pounding loudly in his chest.

* * *

 

The next afternoon found Draco in the library with Pansy, doing Arithmancy homework. Books were laid across the five-person table they occupied; parchment, quills, and inkwells surrounded them as well. Pansy was resting her head on her propped-up hand, flipping lazily through a textbook with her free one. Draco was scanning through old notes, trying to find a solution to their problem. Pansy sighed.

“Why did I take Arithmancy?”

“I don’t know, because you love to suffer?”

“That must be it.” She sighed again. “What an awful subject.”

“It’s not so bad,” Draco said, slightly offended, “Once you get past all the formulas.”

“That’s all it is!”

“No, there’s theory behind it all. That’s what’s interesting.”

“Well, all I see are formulas, and I hate it.”

Draco stopped leafing through his lecture notes and looked at Pansy. Blaise was right; he did need to tell her. He told her nearly everything; her and his mother. Draco paused to think about his mother for a moment; guiltily, he realized he hadn’t written her in weeks. He made a mental note to do so after homework today.

Back to the task at hand. Draco took a deep breath.

“Pansy, I need to tell you something.”

“What?” she asked, lifting her head, suddenly alert. “What is it?”

“It’s to do with Harry. Potter,” he added nervously when he saw her face. “I know you don’t really approve of my friendship with him, but it’s important to me, and obviously, you’re important to me, so I need to share this with you.”

Pansy’s face was both curious and worried.

“It’s…moved past a friendship. We’ve been dating for about a week now.”

“What?” Pansy’s voice carried through the library; they both winced, expecting Madam Pince to swoop down on them at any moment. When they figured it was safe, Pansy continued in a hushed voice. “Draco! How could you not tell me? A week?”

“I was worried about how you’d react,” Draco admitted nervously. “I’m sorry, but to be fair, you have never been the biggest fan of him.”

Pansy’s face flushed slightly. “Regardless of my feelings toward Potter, you’re my best friend, Draco. You can tell me anything, even if you think I won’t like it.”

“ _Do_ you like it?”

Pansy hesitated.

“Are you happy?”

“Yes.”

The answer came easily, surprising Draco, and surprising Pansy by the looks of it too. He realized he hadn’t felt this happy - this alive - in ages. Pansy seemed to realize this too, and her face softened.

“Then I like it,” she said.

“I’m glad.”

They went back to work, speaking only to fact-check and work through problems out loud. They did this for about an hour before they finished.

“Finally!” Pansy said, leaning back in her seat and stretching her arms out. “That only took ages to finish.”

“Now we only have our final papers left,” Draco said, gathering his notes and placing them neatly in his bag. “For this class, at least.”

Pansy groaned and hid her face behind her hands.

“Stop it, Draco, I don’t want to think about that right now.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to just get it over with instead of rushing to get a terrible job done in a week?”

“You say that every year, Draco, and I ignore your advice every year,” Pansy said. She moved closer to the table to gather all the textbooks and slam them shut. “This year won’t be any different.”

“There’s still time. We’ve got two and a half weeks left of term, which is plenty of time to do thorough research, organize our notes, and write a _really_ good paper.”

“You sound like Hermione.”

Draco and Pansy both started at the sound of Harry’s voice; they looked up to find Harry standing there, a nervous smile on his face.

“Er, do you mind if I join you?” Harry said, when the other two just sat there in surprised silence.

Draco looked over at Pansy, willing her to say that she didn’t. She sighed and waved her hand.

“Not at all, go ahead, Potter.”

Harry sat down next to Draco, setting his bag down at a free space on the table.

“I might as well start getting used to hanging around you,” Pansy continued.

Harry turned to Draco with wide eyes.

“You told her?” Harry asked.

Draco nodded.

Harry tried to contain his smile by biting his lip. His eyes darted over to Pansy.

“Look away, Pansy,” Draco said before he leaned over to kiss Harry.

“I’m not a child,” he thought he heard her say stubbornly, though he was really focused on Harry’s taste and scent.

Draco smiled as he and Harry parted; Harry was looking adorably sheepish. He rested a hand on Draco’s thigh, and this time it was Draco trying to hide a smile. Remembering Pansy, he looked up with what he hoped was a neutral expression on his face.

“I just figured you shouldn’t be exposed to this so quickly.”

“I’ll adapt quickly,” Pansy said, her eyes narrowed. She looked at them for another moment, then said, “Merlin, the way you two look at each other. Get a room, honestly.”

“You’re just envious, Pansy,” Draco said.

“I assure you, I’m anything but,” Pansy said. “I’ll never look at anyone like that, and thank Merlin for that. I don’t particularly want to be seen looking that foolish.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked before Draco could respond.

“You ever heard of aromanticism?” Pansy asked, leaning forward with a smile.

“No,” said Harry, glancing sideways at Draco.

“You’ll have to explain it to him,” said Draco. “His knowledge of anything outside of the ‘normal’ orientations is limited.”

“Oh, wonderful,” she rubbed her hands and leaned in even closer. “Well, Potter…”

Draco stood and gathered the textbooks as Pansy began explaining her romantic identity.

He walked away and began putting the books back in their rightful places. It took him quite a while; he couldn’t figure out which section one certain book belonged to. He ended up having to ask Madam Pince about it, who was unsurprisingly displeased. Draco waited patiently as she examined the inside covers and muttered under her breath about how irresponsible students shouldn’t be taking books if they couldn’t even put them back correctly.

Finally, she beckoned him to follow as she went to return it to the bookshelf.

“There,” she said severely once it was fitted snugly in a top shelf, “Now you won’t forget where it is to be returned.”

“Thank you, Madam Pince.”

She _hmmph_ ed and strode off, leaving Draco to return to Pansy and Harry.

When he came back, Pansy was packing up the rest of her materials, and Harry was sitting there, a stony expression on his face. Draco looked between the two of them curiously.

“Are you leaving already?” Draco asked as he sat down in his chair.

“Yes,” Pansy said, snapping her bag closed. She stood, her eyes flashing between him and Harry. “I’m meeting Padma for dinner. You boys have fun.”

She waved, smiling slightly, and she was gone.

“Is everything alright?” Draco asked slowly, turning to face Harry.

“Yeah, course it is,” Harry said unconvincingly.

Draco frowned; something was definitely off.

“Did Pansy say something?” he pressed.

“No, no, she just explained what being aromantic means,” Harry said, meeting Draco’s suspicious gaze. “It’s really interesting; I never even knew something like that existed. I guess I just always assumed everyone experienced romantic attraction…”

“Harry, you can tell me if she said something,” Draco said. “I can have a talk with her, tell her-“

“No, that’s not – you don’t need to do that. It was nothing.” Harry tried a smile. “Let’s just drop it.”

Draco studied Harry; he didn’t like this at all. He sighed.

“Fine.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, clearly relieved. “So, what homework were you doing?”

“Arithmancy,” Draco said. “And don’t make that face, it’s fascinating.”

“I’ve never even tried it,” Harry said. “Hermione’s in it too, I think.”

Draco nodded. “We’re in the same class.”

They lapsed into silence. It was strange. Everything was strange, but this was especially so. The uncertain positions they were all in. He and Harry were dating, but their friends had been at odds with each other for as long as they had known each other. Of course, this had been the case for the two of them as well, but they’d since crossed the line from intense dislike to intense like (Draco smiled at the thought).

But their friends were still firmly in the dislike camp, while they attempted to play nice for the sakes of Harry and Draco.

Draco never knew how to act when he saw Weasley or Granger without Harry; fortunately, when he did, it was only for short amounts of time (besides the Quidditch match). Harry was clearly braver than him, as he had approached both Draco and Pansy today, but look where that got him. Pansy had clearly said something unpleasant to Harry, and he didn’t think either of them were willing to admit it.

“Have you told them yet?” Draco asked quietly. His voice was clear in the silent library.

Harry grimaced. “Not yet. I’ve just, er, got to figure out a way to tell them.”

Draco nodded; he understood, at least partially. But it was easier to admit to dating Harry Potter than dating Draco Malfoy.

* * *

 

The next morning before breakfast, Draco was in the Owlery, sending a letter off to his mother. He had finally accomplished the task after weeks of silence. It was difficult, truly; most of his responsibilities felt like they belonged on a never-ending checklist of things to do, something that would only end when he was dead.

He watched as his eagle owl flew off into the sunrise and stayed there another minute before leaving.

* * *

 

It was the end of the school week, and Draco was restless.

Final exams were approaching quickly; professors and students alike were on edge, anxious about how much material there was left to cover before term ended. Draco wasn’t too worried; although his grades weren’t as good as they were in the past (shockingly enough, good mental health was essential to do well in school), he had always been good at revising.

He liked learning as a child - it made his parents proud even though he always failed to surpass Granger in school. He didn’t like it as much now, just as he didn’t like much of the things he used to. He still had a knack for it, however, and thank Merlin for that.

What worried him more was the upcoming winter holidays. He wasn’t sure if he should go home or stay at Hogwarts. The Manor didn’t feel the same after the Dark Lord had occupied it; Draco didn’t know if it ever would. It was harder to forget the war when he was there, harder to shake off the nightmares, harder to feel like there was a point to living.

On the other hand, his mother was there. He knew she was lonely with only the house elves for company, and he hated that he couldn’t be there for her. She had asked if he knew what he was doing for break in her most recent letter. He hadn’t replied yet.

Mostly, it was Harry. Merlin help him, it was always Harry. Draco was sure that if he knew Harry was staying at Hogwarts, _and_ if Harry wanted him there, he would stay in a heartbeat. As it was, he didn’t know Harry’s plans yet, so Draco couldn’t make his own.

It was ridiculous, he knew, but he was a ridiculous person. Pansy had told him just how ridiculous he was being when he explained his predicament, and urged him to ask Harry as soon as he could. He agreed, knowing he shouldn’t put off answering his mother any longer.

This was on the forefront of his mind until Harry came walking up to him. Draco had been waiting for him, standing and smoking by their usual spot by the lake as he did so. Draco hardly took time to take in the sight (Harry in his school cloak and gloves, shivering slightly) before he reached out and pulled him in, kissing him hard. Harry kissed back enthusiastically, his mouth warm on Draco’s.

They’d hardly seen each other all week, so when they parted, Draco looked him over hungrily. Harry looked a little tired, but fit as ever.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Harry said, grinning.

“Sorry.” Draco felt warmth reach his cheeks. “It’s been a long week.”

“It has,” agreed Harry.

He took Draco’s hand and they walked closer to the water’s edge, where they both sat down, huddled close for warmth. Draco took one last pull from his cigarette before Vanishing it.

“I finally told them,” Harry announced.

Draco looked at him in shock. He felt excitement and nerves all at once, but Harry seemed more distraught than anything.

“What did they say?”

“Well, Ron and Hermione asked me what I was doing for winter break, and when I told them I didn’t know until I asked you, they were surprised to say the least.” Harry paused, a slight grimace on his face. “So they asked why it mattered so much if you were staying or not, and since I didn’t have a good enough answer, they kept asking. And then, y’know, short temper and all that…so I told them that, funnily enough, I cared where my boyfriend was going to be for two weeks, and if I could, I’d like to be with him during that time.” Harry paused again. “That got them quiet, but it also got half the common room quiet as well.”

Draco didn’t know whether to laugh or be mortified.

“I’m sorry - you know how I am when I get mad,” Harry said, his face apologetic. “I know you weren’t ready to let people know and I messed up, Draco.”

Draco shook his head, trying to hide his smile.

“It’s fine. A few Gryffindors isn’t the entire world,” Draco said. Harry deflated in relief. “But who heard exactly?”

“Ginny, Neville, and a whole group of fifth years. So it could be worse, I think.”

“It could,” Draco agreed. “But how did Granger and Weasley react?”

“Hermione was pleased,” Harry said with a smile. “Said she was happy for me, happy that I could stop sulking constantly. Ron was more surprised than anything. But I think – I think it’s helping him realize that I’m serious about this, about us. About you.”

Draco kissed him, overcome with affection. It was still hard to believe that Harry, the famed Chosen One, wanted him, someone known for being a cowardly, arrogant Death Eater.

It started out gentle enough, but Draco quickly realized just how restless and stressed he’d been the past week. His hands were all over Harry soon enough - touching his face, his hair, his neck, and then he was sucking the side of Harry’s neck. Harry leaned his head back, a light moan escaping from his mouth. Draco sucked harder, determined to mark Harry as his own, _his_.

When he finished, he leaned back to examine his work.

“No hiding it,” Draco murmured as Harry reached up to touch it. “If they know, they know.”

Harry nodded and captured Draco’s lips in a hungry kiss.

“Mmph,” Harry said against his mouth. He said between kisses, “Draco, I - I want you.”

Draco stopped for a millisecond – pleasure and arousal and anxiety running through him all at once - and then pulled back fully, looking Harry in the eyes.

“I want you too. But not here,” Draco said, hearing the shakiness in his own voice. “Somewhere with a bed, preferably.”

“We can go back to my dorm,” Harry said, breathless, excited. “I have my Cloak, we can sneak in there easily enough.”

Draco nodded, heart beating wildly beneath his chest.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Draco waited anxiously under the Cloak as Harry approached a portrait of a woman.

“Hic abundant leones,” said Harry.

The portrait swung open, the lady in the portrait hardly paying him any mind, and Harry looked back to where Draco was before climbing through. Draco followed nervously, unsure of what to expect.

Red. It was very red. It’s exactly what he should have expected. Typical Gryffindors.

He followed at Harry’s heels, almost running into him when he stopped suddenly. Draco looked to see why, and the answer was apparent. Granger and Weasley stood in front of Harry.

“There you are,” Granger said. “You keep disappearing on us!”

“Er, yeah, I-“

“Never mind,” Granger interrupted. “Harry, are you _sure_ you’re just going to do whatever Malfoy’s going to do for winter break? It won’t be the same without you at the Burrow…”

“Mum’ll be so glad to see you,” Weasley said. “All of us will.”

Draco wondered if their guilt-tripping would work. He secretly hoped not.

“I know,” Harry sighed. He hesitated and looked over his shoulder to where Draco was standing, invisible. “Look, can we talk about this later? I’m knackered, and I just want to sleep.”

He needs to work on his lying abilities, thought Draco, but by some miracle, Granger nodded.

“Alright. Tomorrow then. Good night, Harry,” she said.

“Good night,” he said.

“Night, Harry,” said Weasley.

“Good night, Ron,” Harry said, and he was off again.

Draco heard Weasley tell his girlfriend that there was still time left for Harry to change his mind as he passed them and hurried to catch up with Harry.

After climbing up too many stairs, Harry pushed open the door at the top of the tower. Draco watched him look around before turning to Draco.

“Right,” Harry said. “Come in.”

Draco did, and when Harry closed the door, he pulled off the Cloak and handed it to Harry.

“Sorry about that,” Harry said, gesturing downstairs.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Draco. He pulled Harry over to him by his cloak and undid the clasp. “I’m just glad they didn’t see this; I don’t think I would have survived if you had to take time to discuss that, too.”

He brushed his fingers against the love bite he had just given Harry, who shivered in response.

“C’mon,” he mumbled, taking Draco’s hand and leading him over to one of the beds. “Go ahead, I just need to put this away.”

As Harry stuffed the Cloak into his trunk, Draco went over to sit on Harry’s bed. He pulled off his cloak and kicked off his shoes, pushing them all underneath the bed so they were out of sight.

He watched impatiently as Harry pulled off his gloves, throwing them on top of the now closed trunk. As soon as Harry was close enough, Draco reached out and ran his hands through the hair Draco was so (begrudgingly) fond of. Harry’s mouth curved into a smile as he let his school cloak fall to the floor and kicked off his shoes.

Harry pulled the curtains closed around his bed before he went at Draco, pushing him down, kissing his mouth desperately. Draco leaned his head back as Harry’s kisses trailed down to his neck, lost in pleasure. Harry paused to pull back; Draco looked at him questioningly.

“Wait,” Harry said, pulling out his wand from a back pocket. “ _Muffliato_. We won’t be heard now.”

“All these tricks up your sleeve,” Draco murmured. He pulled Harry back down again. “You really are sneaky.”

Harry smirked. He took his glasses off and placed them and his wand on the bedside table behind the curtain. Harry was always handsome, that was undeniable, but without those glasses obscuring his face…

Draco sat up, maneuvering Harry so he was sat on Draco’s lap, and kissed him impatiently, running his hands through that hair.

“Merlin, Harry, you’re…” He couldn’t even finish; he didn’t think he could sum up exactly what Harry was in a word.

“Yeah? What am I?”

“Just,” Draco panted, hardly able to keep himself off Harry for a second, “Just get underneath.”

Draco pulled back reluctantly. Harry raised his eyebrows but complied, lifting himself off Draco. He moved so Harry could lay down. Draco took in the sight as he positioned himself over Harry’s hips. Draco could hardly believe this was happening; Harry Potter was underneath him – how many times had he wished for this, thinking it was a desperate, sick fantasy?

Draco leant down to place careful kisses on Harry’s mouth, jawline, neck, his heart racing underneath his chest.

“Oh, I’ve waited so long for this,” Harry breathed, eyes fluttering closed as he leaned his head back against the pillow.

“I’ve waited longer,” Draco said, stopping to undo Harry’s shirt as quickly as he could with shaking hands.

When he finally got it open, Draco admired the sight before him. Smooth, brown skin, muscles firm underneath, marred only by a single, oval scar on his chest. He traced his fingers around it. Harry jumped at the touch. He opened his eyes to see what Draco was doing.

“From the Horcrux. Hermione saved me,” he murmured.

“Horcrux?” Draco asked, pausing in his tracing. In all his years of living in the Wizarding world, he had never heard the term.

“Never mind,” Harry grunted. “Get back to the other thing.”

Draco smirked teasingly. “Is that all I’m good for?”

He cut off Harry’s response by kissing him hard on the mouth. Harry gave a moan and Draco had to hear more. He began trailing down Harry’s body, kissing and sucking and licking everywhere he went - Harry’s collarbone, his chest, nipples, abdomen. That oval scar. Harry shuddered.

“May I?” Draco asked, hands on the buttons of Harry’s trousers.

“Please.”

Smiling, Draco undid the buttons and pulled the trousers off, Harry raising his hips to make them come off easier. Bright red boxers greeted him.

“Typical,” Draco said, and pulled those off too.

He marveled at sight in front of him. Harry was, by the looks of it, just as eager and ready as Draco was. His cock was thicker than Draco imagined, and so very hard. Draco bent forward, resuming his exploration of Harry’s body. He kissed Harry’s inner thighs, working closer and closer to his cock, reveling in the sounds and twitches Harry made. Draco paused to pull off his own jumper, leaving only his own button-up underneath.

Draco resumed his attention to Harry, who was still lying, vulnerable, breathless, ready beneath him.

“Have you ever been sucked off by a bloke before?” Draco asked lowly, gazing up at Harry in time to see him looking weakly at him. Draco felt his own cock push against the inside of his trousers. “Well, that’s about to be a yes.”

Draco began by licking the shaft of Harry’s cock and traveling up the underside of it, all the way up to the tip. Draco felt Harry’s body tense and shudder beneath him, and Draco smirked.

Harry’s rigid cock was glistening; Draco took his eyes off it to glance at Harry, whose eyes were closed. His chest was rising and falling unevenly, and it gave Draco pleasure to know that it was him who was doing this to Harry, Draco who was making him so weak.

He wrapped his lips around Harry’s cock, slowly fitting more and more of it inside his mouth. He heard Harry gasp in surprise, and out of the corner of his eye, his hands grip the sheets.

Encouraged, Draco began moving up and down Harry’s cock, working his tongue in different ways. His hands found Harry’s thighs and he rubbed and squeezed them, wanting to feel more of him, wanting to get more out of him. He slid his tongue across the length of the cock, focused on the head, and went all around, trying to find what Harry _really_ liked.

“Oh, _fuck_ , Draco.”

There it is.

Draco continued, and he felt one of Harry’s hands grasp at his hair. Harry tugged, and Draco gave a muffled noise of surprised pleasure. Draco went on doing that thing Harry liked so much, and Harry’s fingers twisted in his hair. He felt Harry’s body tense further.

“Oh, Merlin, oh Draco, fuck-“

This is when he slowly slid his mouth off Harry’s cock, letting his tongue slide all the way up as he did so.

“Wha-?” Harry moaned, and Draco watched his eyes snap open.

Draco wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as Harry watched, confused.

“Why’d you stop?” Harry panted, annoyance coloring his voice. “God, why’d you stop? I was-“

“I know,” Draco murmured, crawling over to cup Harry’s face in his hand. Harry shivered. “And we can continue, or we can move on.”

Harry’s sweaty face went from frustrated to surprised understanding.

“Draco,” Harry said, “I’ve never – never – not with a bloke. Or anyone.”

“I’ll do all the work,” Draco promised, stroking Harry’s cheek with his thumb.

He watched Harry think about it, his breaths still rather uneven. He wondered if he shouldn’t have said anything; this might have been too much too fast for Harry.

“Of course, we don’t have to,” Draco said quickly. “I just – fuck, I really want to.”

“No, I want to too,” Harry finally said, dilated eyes meeting Draco’s own. “I’m - let’s. Please. Just – fuck, Draco, fuck me.”

“Oh, I will,” Draco breathed, and kissed him.

Draco moved back to Harry’s pelvis, his breaths heavy. This was actually happening, he couldn’t believe it was happening, Harry wanted him, and Draco wanted him too, he wanted him so bad. Draco’s head spun.

“Draco?” he heard Harry say, reminding him of what he was supposed to be doing.

“Turn around.” Draco looked up to meet Harry’s gaze, trusting, affectionate. “Go on.”

Harry did as he was told, and Draco shuddered. His trembling hands ran from Harry’s shoulder, covered in the thin cloth, to his arse, bare and ready for Draco.

“Your shirt,” Draco murmured.

“What? Oh.”

Harry pulled it off and let it fall on the bed beside him.

Draco took a moment to take in the sight before him, his heart thudding wildly underneath his chest. He then undid his own trousers and pushed them down, finally allowing his cock to be exposed. His cock was close to throbbing now, yearning to be satisfied. Wand – he needed his wand. He didn’t think Harry would have lube lying around.

He got it from the back pocket of his trousers where it had almost fallen out, and did a quick lubrication spell. Draco got to work, sliding it over his fingers and cock as quickly as he could.

“Right,” Draco said, his focus back on Harry. “It won’t be pleasant at first. It might be painful. But you tell me as soon as it hurts too much, alright?”

“I can handle it,” Harry said. “Just – please, Draco.”

Draco loved the way his name sounded coming out of Harry’s lips - desperate, pleading, full of need. He held onto this as he slowly put a finger in Harry’s hole. Harry gasped underneath him, and Draco hesitated.

“Keep going,” Harry answered his unspoken question. “Just surprised.”

Draco continued, slowly pumping his finger in and out, trying to loosen Harry up. Merlin, he was tight but then again, why wouldn’t he be?

Once he thought Harry was ready for another, he put a second finger in, and then a third. After some more pumping, Draco spoke.

“Harry, are you ready?”

He saw Harry nod.

“Ok,” Draco murmured. He withdrew his fingers and slowly slid his cock in Harry – had Draco ever experienced something so _good_? Just being inside Harry was enough to start satisfying his cock.

This time, Harry really gasped, and Draco felt him tense. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” Harry gasped.

“Tell me as soon as you’re not.”

“I’m not – not weak, Draco.”

“It’s not a matter of weakness-“

“Draco, just – fuck me.”

Draco began thrusting slowly, his cock tight and warm, and placed his hands on Harry’s arse, taking hold of him. Harry shuddered underneath him.

“Oh, Merlin, Harry,” Draco murmured, pleasure overtaking him. “You feel so – so good.”

Harry simply gasped in response. Draco’s fingers dug into Harry, and he thrusted harder, finally getting what his body had yearned for.

“Fuck,” Draco murmured. “Fuck, I can’t believe - this - you.”

Draco bit his tongue, not wanting to say anything embarrassing but Merlin it was hard, it was so hard when everything felt so _good_.

“Tell me more,” Harry gasped.

“You, I can’t believe I’m,” Draco answered, unable to stop himself, “With you, finally with you, finally - _Merlin_.”

Harry let out a moan.

“This is real, this is – oh, _fuck_ ,” Draco was hardly aware of what he was saying. “Harry, Harry, this is, I can’t-“

“Draco.”

He still wasn’t used to hearing Harry saying his name, especially not like this, it was so hot, Draco needed him, he felt so good inside him.

“Fuck.”

“Draco-“

“Are you close?”

“G-God, yes.”

“Fuck, I’m going, I’m going to-“

Draco came in Harry with a deep moan; white spots filled his vision. He’d never experienced anything so powerful, so strong, so _good_. A few moments later, Harry came too, his body shaking and shuddering underneath Draco’s. Draco pulled out, his chest rising and falling, his fingers trembling as he released his hold on Harry. He zipped himself back up with effort.

“Draco.” Harry stretched his arm out.

He crawled over to Harry and set himself down next to him, his entire body still quaking after that orgasm. He loved the sight of Harry, naked and sticky and panting, so close his scent (and the smell of sweat and sex) filled Draco’s nose.

He still couldn’t believe he was here - years after admiring Harry from afar and masking his arousal by being the world’s biggest prat to him and his friends. After being so ashamed of himself and so overwhelmed by Harry at the beginning of the school year. But somehow, after all the blood and sweat and tears, after nearly killing each other, after saving each other, they were here. They had wound up in Harry’s bed with Harry looking at him like he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

Draco flushed as Harry raised his trembling hand to touch Draco’s face gingerly, that expression of awe still on his face.

“Draco, that was – you’re,” Harry placed a sloppy kiss on Draco’s forehead, “Amazing. Beautiful.”

“That’s you,” Draco said, his hands on Harry’s chest again; he couldn’t stop touching him, like he needed to believe this was real.

Harry shook his head with a laugh.

“No, you don’t understand, Draco, that was – was unlike anything I’ve ever felt,” Harry said breathlessly, a wide smile on his face.

“It’s not any different for me.”

Harry turned to look at him, that smile still on his face. He kissed Draco again, on the lips this time, and Draco kissed back hungrily, as tired as he was. They parted, and Harry stared at Draco a moment, then grinned.

“Come here, I’m freezing.”

“That’s because you’re not wearing any clothes,” Draco said. “And we’re over the covers.”

“Help me then.”

They pulled the covers out from underneath them (with much effort), and collapsed into bed once more. Harry pulled Draco in close, so close that his back was pressed against Harry’s warm skin, still sticky with sweat. Harry draped an arm over him.

“G’night, Draco,” he mumbled.

“Good night, Harry.”

Draco closed his eyes and was asleep within minutes.

* * *

 

Draco woke up the next morning with the unusual feeling of someone else pressed against him. He opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of Harry, fast asleep and with his mouth drooped open, his face an inch away from his own. He looked up, saw bright red in every direction, and last night came back to him at once.

He might not have believed it if a naked Harry Potter (save for socks, Draco thought) wasn’t snuggled up next to him, but there he was. Draco laid there, taking it all in, unable to stop a smile from spreading across his face.

Draco’s thoughts were interrupted by voices behind the curtain. He pulled the blanket up higher, his heart rate quickening; the last thing he wanted right now was a group of Gryffindors finding him and Harry in bed together.

“…Is Harry still sleeping?” came a voice, possibly Longbottom’s.

“Yeah, think so.” That had to be Weasley. “It’s weird, he’s usually up by now.”

Draco turned to face Harry once more. He was still fast asleep. Draco grimaced, not wanting to rouse him; he looked so peaceful.

He shook Harry’s shoulder.

“Harry,” he hissed. Harry stirred, but did not wake. “Wake up.”

He shook him a little harder. It proved unnecessary, however, because a moment later, Weasley called out, making Draco jump.

“Oi, Harry, you awake?”

Harry woke up sharply, his eyes snapping open. They met Draco’s own, which probably conveyed the panic he was feeling.

“Er, yeah!” Harry’s voice was thick with sleep, and Draco’s cock reacted. This wasn’t the time.

“We’re getting breakfast soon,” Weasley said from behind the curtain.

“Go ahead, I’ll meet you lot there,” Harry replied as he rubbed his eyes.

“You sure?”

“Yeah!” Harry said. “Go on.”

Draco and Harry waited in tense silence as they heard footsteps retreating and the unmistakable sound of a door closing shut. Draco sighed and deflated against Harry’s chest. Harry groaned tiredly, closing his eyes again as he rested his head back on the pillow.

“What time is it?” he mumbled.

“Let me check.”

Draco searched the area for his wand, which he had taken out of his pocket, along with his pack of smokes, at some point last night. He found it tucked underneath a pillow and cast a _Tempus_ charm.

“Almost eight.”

Harry grumbled incoherently for a moment before opening his eyes again.

“Could you grab me my glasses?”

Draco fished them from the bedside table and handed them to Harry, who put them on. Harry smiled as soon as his eyes focused on Draco, who was now lying facing him.

“Good morning,” Harry said, kissing him softly.

Warmth spread through Draco, and he wished he could stay here forever. He knew better than that, though.

“Good morning,” Draco said. “We should really get up.”

“I’d rather just stay here, wouldn’t you?” Harry asked with a devilish smirk. His hand trailed down Draco’s shirt. “Finally get you out of these clothes…”

“That’s the exact opposite of what we need to be doing,” Draco replied as a chill ran down his back.

Harry made a face, and Draco couldn’t help but smile.

“There’ll be plenty of time after breakfast to do whatever you like,” Draco reminded him.

“You’re right,” Harry said, sitting up with a smile. He looked down at himself, partially covered by blankets. “I need clothes.”

“I think they’re at the foot of the bed,” said Draco.

“You’re an arse,” Harry said, and Draco smirked.

Harry pulled back the curtain and stood up, back and arse to Draco. He noticed that he was right; Harry did still have his socks on.

Harry made a sound and turned around. “Could you do that cleaning spell?”

Draco laughed and sat up, picking up his wand once more. “Don’t fancy going down to breakfast covered in sweat and cum?”

Harry looked mortified.

Draco cast the spell, and relief washed over Harry’s features as he examined himself once more. Harry looked up, his mouth open to speak, when his eyes landed on Draco’s wand.

“I’m an idiot,” Harry said suddenly, and walked away.

“What? Harry?”

“I’m an idiot,” Harry repeated.

Draco got off the bed, his legs resisting, and stuffed his wand in his back pocket. He walked over to Harry and was greeted by quite a sight. Harry, hair sticking up in all directions, wearing only ratty old socks, bent over his trunk and throwing its contents about worriedly.

“Harry?”

“Found it,” he said, straightening up and holding something incredibly familiar to Draco. “Here.”

“Is that…?” Draco walked closer and took it from Harry.

It was. His wand of nearly seven years. He grasped it firmly, and he felt right again, like he was no longer missing a vital part of himself – something he didn’t even know he was missing. Draco goggled at it, turning it over repeatedly in his hands. He looked up at Harry, who was grimacing.

“Merlin, I’m an idiot,” he said for the third time in the same amount of minutes. “I don’t know why I never returned it earlier, I just completely forgot about it. Draco, I’m sorry.”

Draco crossed the space between them and kissed Harry, surprising him.

“I didn’t think you still had it,” mumbled Draco once they had parted. He was staring at his wand again. “Thank you, Harry. I can return my mother’s wand now.”

“Er, yeah.” Harry scratched his head. “Of course.”

Draco could barely focus as he found his jumper, cloak, and shoes. He pulled them all on distractedly, his mind on his wand. Once fully clothed, he stood there, wrapped up in his whirling thoughts as Harry continued to get dressed.

“Right,” Harry said, getting Draco’s attention. He was wearing that black hoodie Draco loved so much, and those Muggle inventions called jeans. His hair was slightly tamer than before, though that didn’t exactly mean tame. The large love bite Draco had given him the night before was fairly noticeable. “Breakfast?”

Draco put his wand in his pocket next to his mother’s. “Yeah.”

“Oh, wait,” Harry said.

Draco waited as Harry retrieved the Invisibility Cloak from his trunk, and made an apologetic face as he passed it to Draco.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t apologize,” Draco said as he threw it over himself.

It was him, after all, who was too scared to draw attention to himself, especially near Harry. These bitter thoughts didn’t leave his mind, but bounced around in his head, taunting him.

*****

They parted ways before entering the Hall, promising to meet up again later on. It was a Saturday, and that meant time to relax (or in their case, fuck). It made Draco feel giddy but also rather foolish – like it still wasn’t real, like it was still impossible that Harry Potter would give someone like him the time of day.

That was all Draco could think about as he made his way to the Slytherin table, and Pansy and Blaise knew it. The way they looked at him - Pansy knowingly and Blaise approvingly – as he walked up let him know immediately that they knew he had spent the night at Harry’s. He sat down, trying not to show how uncomfortable he was, and began putting food on his plate.

“Draco, if you’re trying to be discreet, you need to take a look at yourself in the mirror before going out in public,” said Pansy as she turned toward him, hands already reaching for his hair. She smoothed it out patiently with skilled fingers. “There. You nearly look acceptable now.”

“Thanks, Pansy,” he said appreciatively, knowing his cheeks had turned slightly pink.

“So, you’ve finally done the deed?” Blaise asked, and smirked as Draco choked on his food.

“Not that it’s any of your business-“ Draco began to say as Pansy shot Blaise a look, “But, well, actually, it’s none of your business.”

“I just figured I’d ask,” Blaise shrugged. “But good for you. Merlin knows you’ve spent much too long whinging after him.”

“Yes, yes, I had a pathetic crush on him for years, we all know,” Draco said lowly as his two friends smirked. “But who’s the one here actually getting some?”

Pansy gasped, scandalized, as Blaise shook his head.

“It’s not my fault no one at this miserable school is worthy of my affections,” Blaise said, moodily picking at his eggs.

Pansy scoffed. “Oh please, Blaise, we all know you’d jump at the chance to shag the girl Weasley.”

Blaise began to deny it, but Draco stopped him short, placing a hand on Blaise’s arm.

“We all know,” Draco said delicately as Pansy laughed. “I can ask Harry if she’s seeing anyone.”

Blaise scowled.

“Sod off, Draco.”

“Alright, alright,” Draco said, removing his hand, a smirk playing at his lips. “I’m just trying to help those less fortunate than I.”

Blaise raised two fingers. Pansy watched the both of them, a smile on her face.

They continued talking and teasing each other throughout breakfast. At one point, Draco realized with a jolt that this was almost normal. In fact, it might have been completely normal. They hadn’t managed to speak like this for an extended period of time since the beginning of sixth year, before everything went to hell.

Draco was shocked; for a long time he honestly thought he could never get back to this feeling of normalcy, of lightheartedness. And then a nasty thought occurred to him: how long would this last?


	2. now we arise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was pretty tough to write to be honest. I kept getting stuck in one area (guess where) and I was in a real bad place mentally at the time - I think it's unintentionally come across in the fic. 
> 
> It ended differently than what I had originally planned, and it's also a lot shorter but I hope it's alright. 
> 
> I made two changes - Pansy's friends with Padma, not Parvati, and I pushed the timeline forward a week after Draco and Harry began their relationship. It felt weird to have all this drama and then another two and a half weeks of school. So nothing too major.
> 
> Comments, kudos, and bookmarks are everything. Thanks all. Hope you enjoy.

After breakfast, Draco went to drop off his mother’s wand in his dormitory and take a shower (much to the relief of Pansy). The hot water and clean clothes were, truthfully, a soothing relief after all the activity from the previous night.

He began writing a letter to his mother, starting by saying he’d gotten his old wand back from Harry Potter so he no longer had need for hers. He hadn’t told his mother that his relationship with Harry had developed the way it had. It was strange, really, given how he had always been close to her and liked telling her things. Something had changed, of course, during the war, but he’d almost gotten used to writing her about every little thing once more.

He mostly wondered how she would react. Would she approve? Would she be cautious? Would she be happy for him?

Pushing these thoughts aside, Draco continued responding to his mother’s letter. He wrote without pause, only stopping when he got to the final paragraph. Would he be staying at Hogwarts or coming home?

Home. Was the Manor truly home? It certainly didn’t feel like it.

He’d finish it later.

* * *

 

It was afternoon when Draco saw Harry again.

They were sitting by the lake, and it was daytime for once. Absolutely anyone could see them.

Draco wondered if he was making it a bigger deal than it was and decided it was likely. Plenty of people had seen Harry Potter keep company with Draco Malfoy, though they couldn’t seem to decide why he did so. Was he taking pity on the subdued ex-Death Eater? Was he being forced to hang around him? Or was he being corrupted by Draco and his evil ways?

The students who had been around during some part of their first six years knew of the aggressive history between them. The students who hadn’t had heard of them regardless – after all, who in this wide world didn’t know Harry Potter? And while Draco was much less well-known, he did gain some notoriety during the trials, adding to his previous reputation as a wealthy Pureblood.

Nevertheless, everyone had seemed to decide that Harry was the pure, good soul, and Draco was corrupting him somehow.

Draco couldn’t disagree with that completely.

But Harry was obviously fine with being seen with Draco, and that helped Draco be less anxious about it.

They were sitting and enjoying each other’s company when something occurred to Draco.

“So what _are_ you doing for the winter holidays?”

“Oh. Er, well, if you’re staying here, I was thinking I’d stay as well,” Harry said with a small smile. “But if not, I’d go to the Burrow. The Weasley’s.”

Draco nodded. Harry was watching him carefully.

“What about you?”

“Me too,” said Draco. “I mean, if you’ll stay, I will too. I’d – I miss my mother, but I don’t think I’m ready to go back there yet.”

Harry frowned and moved closer, pressing his thigh against Draco’s.

“We’ll stay, then.”

“Are you sure?” Draco asked, already feeling like a burden.

Harry took Draco’s hand; Draco felt his face heat up immediately.

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

For the first time, Draco noticed something.

He moved their hands so Harry’s hand was turned up over Draco’s lap. Draco examined the back of Harry’s hand, ignoring Harry’s soft _Draco, don’t_. It took a moment for Draco to realize that it was scarring. Scars that spelled out the words “I must not tell lies.”

Shocked, he looked up at Harry, wanting an explanation. Harry was staring down at his hand, his jaw clenched.

“Umbridge,” Harry bit out. “She gave me detentions for telling the truth about Voldemort-“ Draco flinched but Harry went on as usual, “and this is what she made me do. Carve these words over and over again, as if it’d make it true. As if it’d mean that he wasn’t really back.”

“That’s sick.”

He thought about his time during fifth year, compared to Harry’s, and felt that he was really the one who was sick. He went along with that cruel woman, blindingly following her lead. Blindingly following the leads of monsters could be the title of his autobiography, he thought.

He repeated hollowly, “That’s sick.”

“I know what you’re-“

“Do you?” snapped Draco. Harry looked hurt, and Draco felt a pang of guilt. He took a deep breath. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have – but, Harry – Merlin, what are you doing with me?”

Draco let go of Harry’s hand and patted the pockets of his trousers impatiently, feeling for his smokes, as Harry sputtered.

“Draco, don’t say that,” Harry said. “I _want_ to be with you. You’re not a bad person. You’re not sick.”

But Draco was only half-listening, preoccupied by his search.

When he didn’t respond, Harry asked, “Draco?”

“I can’t find my cigarettes,” Draco said, frowning. “I always have them in my pocket.”

“They’re not in your cloak either?”

“No,” Draco said. Then it was clear. “Oh.”

“What?”

At that moment, a bushy-haired individual came at them, followed by a taller, red-headed person.

“Harry! Are these yours?” Granger demanded as she approached, brandishing exactly what Draco was looking for moments ago.

“Oh.” Harry understood now.

Draco reacted faster, standing up and facing Granger. Weasley had caught up to them by then, wheezing slightly as he stopped at Granger’s side. Harry joined the three of them apprehensively.

“They’re not his,” Draco said evenly, “They’re mine.”

Granger was furious, her brown eyes blazing as she rounded on him.

“You,” she growled. “Of course they’re yours. But then why did Ron find–“ Understanding dawned on her face immediately; she wasn’t top of their class for nothing. She gasped and turned back to Harry. “Did you and Malfoy - Harry?”

Draco cursed his forgetfulness, and cursed the situation he had gotten Harry in. His eyes jumped from Granger (still furious, slightly shocked), to Harry (mostly mortified), and landed on Weasley (predictably clueless).

“What? Hermione, what are you on about?” Weasley asked. Draco watched as Weasley’s own eyes jumped from each of them, landing lastly on the love bite on Harry’s neck. Weasley blanched. “Harry, did you…?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Er – well. I don’t -”

“We’re best mates,” Weasley said, and Merlin help him, he looked hurt. “You can tell me anything.”

“But do you really want to hear it?” Harry countered, and Weasley lost some of the color he had regained in the past minute. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t purposefully keep anything from you. I just know you don’t approve in the first place, so I didn’t think you’d like to know the specifics.”

Confrontation really didn’t work well with Draco. It just made him irritable (or rather, more irritable than usual) and uncomfortable. His heart thudded as he gathered the nerve to speak.

“And those really are mine,” Draco added, pointing at the cigarettes, “So could I have them back?”

Granger’s gaze snapped to Draco; she had been staring at Harry with an unreadable expression on her face. Good or bad, Draco didn’t know, but then, he didn’t know Granger much at all.

She looked down at the carton in her hands as if she’d forgotten she was holding them, and frowned disapprovingly before handing them to Draco.

“I know, smoking kills,” Draco said as he put the box back where it belonged. He felt their eyes on him, and he desperately wanted to leave. He turned to Harry. “Should I just leave you all to sort this out? I don’t think I need to be here.”

“You really are a prat, Malfoy,” said Weasley before Harry could respond. “You’re really just going to leave as soon as you get what you want? I guess you haven’t changed after all - you’re the same selfish bastard you always were.”

Draco advanced on him, his anger winning out over his shame. “And you still haven’t learned to shut your mouth about things you know nothing about. You better watch that fat mouth, Weasley, or I’ll-“

“Or you’ll what?” Weasley interrupted. “Your _father_ can’t help you anymore, remember? He’s rotting in Azkaban, just like he deserves.”

Rage rose within him, and Draco actually snarled as he got even closer to Weasley, whose ears were turning a bright red.

“Don’t you dare talk about my father, you righteous git.”

Before he could say more, he felt a hand on his shoulder and he whirled around, seething. Harry was looking calmly at him, his hand now gripping Draco’s shoulder tightly.

“Draco,” Harry said softly, his eyes locked on Draco’s. “Put your wand away.”

“Wha-?”

Draco looked down and realized that he did indeed have his wand out. He had no memory of taking it out, but there it was, clenched tightly in his hand. He glanced up at Harry’s stony face, and as shame replaced anger, he stowed it away. Harry released his hold on him.

Draco took a deep breath before turning to Weasley, who was staring at them with displeasure. Granger stood in the same place as before, that inscrutable expression still on her face.

“I’m sorry for losing my temper like that. I shouldn’t have said those things to you. And I know he deserves to be in there, but he’s still my father,” Draco said, forcing calm into his shaky voice. Both Granger and Weasley looked surprised. He turned to Harry. ”If you’d like me to be here, I’ll stay.”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry said, sighing. He ran a hand through his hair and glanced at Weasley and Granger. “I think this is a conversation we need to have alone.”

Draco nodded and touched Harry’s arm briefly. “Find me when you’re done, if you want.”

“I will.”

He turned towards the other two and nodded curtly in their general direction, unwilling to make eye contact. Draco felt their eyes on him as he walked away, taking out the carton of cigarettes as he did so.

* * *

 

Draco was chain smoking. He knew it didn’t do his physical health any favors, but he needed it.

He hadn’t gotten that riled up in years. He hated being out of control - it scared him. It made him feel like he could just fall back into his old ways and there would be nothing he could do about it. The last thing he wanted was to go back to being the vile, aggressive shit he once was.

He had promised himself that he would be more subdued upon returning to Hogwarts. Gone was the vicious boy who reveled in being cruel to others. That part of him, no – that person he was had started to fade during sixth year when reality had finally caught up to him. When simple threats weren’t enough and he had to live up to his words. When someone else was doing the threatening.

Seventh year was when he was mostly shell-shocked by what had happened - what he had done and what he had almost done. He didn’t know if being at school or being at home was worse at that time (just like now). He was surrounded by other Death Eaters either way, and both places served as forceful reminders that he, too, was an active Death Eater.

It didn’t matter much after the Easter holidays when he was forced to stay in the Manor. He felt sick just thinking about that time, how the days crawled past, how his mother had tried her best to comfort him when she herself was near breaking point, how _He_ had killed all those goblins and wizards in his rage at one point…

As he leaned against the stone wall of the castle, he felt himself shake. No, he was _not_ about to cry. He clenched his jaw, angry at himself.

Draco took one last drag before Vanishing his cigarette quickly. He wondered how many he had gone through. There was no way to know for sure now.

He pushed himself off the wall and made his way to the closest entrance.

He kept his head down as he walked through the corridors, wanting to be invisible. He was still in denial of the burning sensation in his eyes, half-hoping that if he ignored it long enough, it’d go away. Of course, that wasn’t how it worked.

Well, he reasoned bitterly, if he _was_ going to cry, he wasn’t about to do it in front of other people. His legs worked automatically, taking him to the first place he thought of when he thought “privacy.”

Draco pushed open the door of the sixth floor bathroom and walked right in, knowing no one would be there, save for the possibility of Moaning Myrtle. He went over to one of the sinks and gripped the edges of it tightly, avoiding his reflection in the dirty mirror.

He took a few breaths, hoping he wouldn’t have to cry after all, but it proved useless. He knew that if he didn’t do it now, he’d be on the verge of tears for much longer. Better to get it over with now. A few seconds later, he was gasping and crying uncontrollably into the same sink that had become familiar to him two years ago.

He hated it. It made him feel like nothing had changed, like he was doomed to be this pathetic failure of a person – a Death Eater - forever.

Once he was done, he rolled up his sleeves and turned on the tap to wash his face off. He felt numb, which was something that happened whenever he had a violent crying session (though luckily they didn’t happen often). He thought he preferred it to sobbing uncontrollably, but it was still peculiar going from feeling such strong emotion to none at all so quickly. Draco turned the knob.

He stared up at his own reflection, feeling a disconnect between it and himself. Like he wasn’t real. His gaze dropped to his pale forearm and the dark, angry mark on it. He was so used to avoiding it, averting his own gaze, but now he just stared, unfeeling.

His face was still wet from rinsing it off; he reached up to wipe the moisture off with wet hands. It didn’t do much good. He stared blankly into his own grey eyes for another minute before going to sit against a wall.

He rested his folded arms against his knees and leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling above.

How did he get here? Was it when he was sixteen and fearfully accepted the Dark Mark? When he failed to kill Dumbledore? When he was seventeen and refused to identify Harry in the Manor? When he pleaded with another Death Eater, telling them that he was on their side? Or did it go back further than that, when he was six and starting to absorb his family’s twisted ideals? When he was eleven and cementing his reputation as a Muggle-hater? Or was he just destined for all this as soon as he was born?

Draco rubbed subconsciously at his uncovered forearm.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, not entirely present in the world, before someone came and sat down next to him. Draco turned his head to face Harry, who was worrying his lip.

Draco sighed heavily and rested his head on Harry’s shoulder, because that was easier than talking.

Harry moved his arm so it looped around Draco’s waist. His touch was warm, and Draco was thankful. They sat there in silence like that for a few minutes, and then Harry spoke, his voice soft.

“Why here?”

“I knew no one would be here,” Draco answered, his voice croaky. “Or if somewhere were here, it’d be Moaning Myrtle, who already knows just how mental I am.”

“You’re not mental.”

Draco gave a humorless laugh. “Right.”

He lifted his head to look at Harry, who was staring at the floor, furrowed brows above stormy eyes. Draco gazed at the same place, still feeling rather numb.

He didn’t remember much besides falling and the overwhelming smell of blood. He knew Harry remembered more, and that he was remembering it right now, judging by how tense he was.

“Stop it,” Draco said, watching as Harry grew tenser. “It doesn’t matter.”

Harry turned to face Draco sharply. “How could you say that? I almost killed you, Draco-“

“And I was about to use the Cruciatus curse on you. _And_ I had almost killed two people by that time – all while I was plotting to kill someone else entirely,” Draco pointed out.

“It doesn’t mean you deserve to die,” Harry countered angrily.

 _Doesn’t it?_ he thought, but was smart enough to stay silent.

“Never mind,” Draco said. “Professor Snape came and fixed me, and now I’m sitting here with you, alive. So drop it.”

Harry looked like he wasn’t going to.

“I dropped whatever it was Pansy said to you in the library,” Draco reasoned, “Even though I’m still curious. So now I’m asking you to leave this.”

“That’s completely different. But it was about this,” Harry said, closing his eyes. “Sort of. She just told me that even though you’d forgotten everything I’d done, she hadn’t. And she said that if I hurt you, she’d make me regret it.”

Draco stiffened; he was going to kill Pansy. It was bad enough that she was telling Draco that he was idolizing Harry and that he didn’t know what he was doing; it was another thing entirely for her to threaten Harry when Draco had his back turned.

“Merlin,” he sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m going to kill her.”

Harry had opened his eyes and was watching Draco, something like amusement on his face.

“She’s just being protective. It’s fine, Draco,” he said reassuringly, putting a hand on Draco’s arm.

“She still shouldn’t be saying those things to you,” Draco muttered.

And then Draco realized his sleeve was still rolled up, and that Harry’s hand was on Draco’s arm, and his Mark was out in the open, just a few inches away from Harry’s fingertips. Horror washed over him, amplified because of how empty he had been feeling just moments before, and he wondered if Harry had seen it, but he must have; how could someone miss something so glaringly obvious.

Draco moved his arm abruptly, jerking it away from Harry, his heart pounding with sick terror.

“Draco?”

And as he yanked his sleeves down, Harry understood.

“You don’t need to-“

“ _Yes_ , I do,” Draco cut across him, not wanting to hear it.

He couldn’t; he couldn’t hear any justification for the ugly mark on his arm that represented death and torture and prejudice and hate and the dozens of other horrible concepts it was linked to.

“You’re not that person anymore. It’s just a mark now.”

“It’s not _just_ a mark, Harry,” Draco said, disbelief in his voice. “It’s _the Mark_ , and nothing can take its meaning away. Even if the Dark Lord’s dead, even if it’s been a year, even if it’s been ten years, whatever - it’ll still have the same connotation.”

“You don’t believe in the meaning,” Harry said, and he placed his hand on Draco’s arm once more. Draco winced but didn’t shake him off. “I don’t think you ever really did. I’m not defending Voldemort, Draco, I’m defending you. It _can_ just be a mark to you.”

“I…” Draco hesitated. “I don’t know.”

He rested his head against Harry’s shoulder again.

“How did your talk with Granger and Weasley go?”

“As well as it could’ve gone,” Harry said with a frown. “They weren’t happy to find out you spent the night – and right under their noses, too - but really, it’s none of their business. I don’t go around demanding to know when _they’ve_ spend the night together, so why should they? I think it’s because it’s you. They still don’t trust you. I mean, if it was Ginny, they’d just be happy to know it was going fine and leave us alone.”

His voice took on a bitter tone by the end. Draco was admittedly curious; he had never heard Harry discuss the youngest Weasley before. He didn’t press, however, in fear of Harry stopping. He needn’t have worried, however, because Harry continued on his own after a moment.

“I love Ginny,” Harry explained quietly, “But the way everyone just expected us to be together was wrong. It felt forced. It was mutual, our split. Ron was mad, saying I was leading her on by breaking it off and getting back together and then breaking it off again. But I don’t think we ever really got together after the war. I was too busy, er, dealing, and Ginny was grieving – their whole family was. But it wouldn’t have worked even if we weren’t struggling, I know it. It just – it just died.”

Draco listened interestedly, and was silently glad Harry didn’t think it would have worked.

“Dealing?” he asked.

Harry looked uncomfortable; he ran a hand through his hair and avoided eye contact.

“Just - with the war. You know.”

He didn’t think Harry was telling him the whole truth, but Harry went on before Draco could ask him to elaborate.

“Anyway,” Harry continued, “I think they’ve finally understood that I’m serious about this, and it’s not going to stop anytime soon. So it all worked out.”

Draco moved in to kiss him as he didn’t have the words to express how he felt. Harry kissed back, cupping Draco’s face with his free hand. Draco moaned into the kiss; the feel of Harry’s warm body against his own made his cock harden, bringing back memories of last night.

They pulled away from each other, and Draco saw the lust in Harry’s eyes.

“Want to go?” Harry mumbled, his fingers playing with Draco’s hair.

Draco nodded.

* * *

 

They didn’t bother with the Invisibility Cloak this time. It was one of the last Saturday afternoons anyway, and students were either busy revising in the library or outside, ignoring the upcoming exams. Still, the prospect of being found out made Draco feel rather reckless.

The woman in the portrait raised her eyebrows but made no comment as she let Harry and Draco into the Gryffindor common room. Draco followed, staring straight ahead, not quite daring enough to look about the room to see who was there.

They got to the staircase without incident and climbed up the steps. When they finally reached the top, Harry opened the door and peered inside the room. A moment later, Harry pulled Draco in and closed the door, beaming as he did so.

They crashed into each other, mouths working like they needed each other to breathe, and Draco’s hands traveled all over Harry, wanting to see and touch all of him. Remembering how good last night was just made him all the more impatient, and Draco pushed Harry back, making them both stumble toward Harry’s bed.

Harry made an incoherent noise as he pulled back to undo the clasp at Draco’s throat.

Draco’s cloak fell to the floor. He kicked off his shoes as Harry pulled off his hoodie, revealing a thin, long-sleeved shirt underneath. Draco’s eyes were drawn to the stretch of skin that peeked out as Harry raised his arms, and he felt his cock grow even harder.

Draco pushed Harry back onto his bed (Harry clumsily kicking off his shoes as he went) and kissed him hungrily, an impatient noise emerging from his throat. Draco took out his wand and cigarettes one-handedly, and retrieved Harry’s wand as well. He tossed them all in the general direction of Harry’s bedside table; he could get them later.

“Draco.” Harry pulled away, panting, his lips swollen. “Maybe we should actually get on the bed.”

“Right,” he breathed, his cheeks warming.

He lifted himself off Harry and went to sit on the bed; Harry climbed onto it fully. He pulled the curtains closed before they resumed kissing, Draco’s heart thudding and cock pushing against his trousers.

Draco’s hands went to the bottom of Harry’s shirt; he had to see him. They parted so Draco could pull it over his head, and Merlin, he’d never get used to the sight. He wondered how Harry stayed so toned, and when it had happened. He’d been so scrawny as a teenager.

He pulled off his own school jumper, revealing the white button-up underneath. Harry’s hands reached for the buttons and began undoing them as quickly as he could. Draco pulled it off when Harry finished, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.

He was much thinner than Harry was, and certainly not as muscular. His pale skin contrasted with Harry’s, and the scars from that fight in the bathroom stood out, slightly raised. But worst of all was the Dark Mark. Even though Harry had seen it earlier today, now it was out in the open with no chance of hiding it.

Draco looked up at Harry, expecting to see revulsion (at worst) or tolerance (at best) on his handsome face. Instead, as Harry’s eyes ran up and down Draco’s frame, the only way Draco could describe the expression on his face was wonder. Draco felt his face heat up.

“Draco,” Harry murmured, reaching out to run a hand from a slightly protruding collarbone all the way down to the top of his trousers. Draco shivered, and Harry’s bright eyes snapped up to meet Draco’s own. “You’re beautiful.”

Draco made to deny it, but Harry captured Draco’s lips with his own. Harry kissed him enthusiastically, a low hum coming from him as his hands ran across Draco’s chest once more. Harry pulled away and looked down. Draco followed his gaze. His fingers were close to one of the Sectumsempra scars.

“Do they hurt?”

Draco shook his head. “Not anymore.”

“God,” Harry said, biting his lip. “I’m so sorry.”

“I told you,” Draco said softly. “Forget about it.”

Harry traced it with his fingers, making chills run down Draco’s back. He gently pushed Draco back onto the bed and began pressing kisses everywhere - Draco’s neck, collarbone, chest, scars, stomach.

“You’re – so – _pretty_ ,” Harry murmured, each word punctuated by another kiss.

Draco couldn’t stay still; Harry’s praises went straight to his cock, and all he wanted was for Harry to touch him some more.

“Harry,” Draco nearly moaned.

Harry gave a smirk before he licked – oh _fuck_ – up Draco’s stomach and chest. Draco gasped, his back arching off the bed. He was breathing heavily as he undid his own trousers with trembling hands, unable to wait any longer.

“Let me.”

Draco withdrew his hands obediently and watched as Harry pulled off his trousers. He focused his gaze on Harry as he then pulled off Draco’s underwear, feeling his face heat up as his cock came into view.

Something about Harry made him so nervous; he hated it but it also thrilled him – like he was young and innocent and free again. It was easier to focus and not worry when he was leading but now, Harry was in control. And he was looking at him.

Harry leaned over and brushed his lips against Draco’s before speaking.

“I’ve never done this before,” Harry said. “Sucked someone off, I mean.”

“Harry,” Draco said, trying not to groan, “Just do it. Even if you’re terrible, it’ll be phenomenal – I assure you.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose, and then he smiled.

“Alright.”

Draco closed his eyes, and a few seconds later, he gasped as he felt Harry’s hot mouth slide onto his throbbing cock. He bit his lip, trying to contain all the noises he wanted to make, and blindly grabbed for Harry’s hair. He found it and pulled.

“Oh, Harry,” he panted with effort. “So good.”

He heard a muffled noise, and Draco gave a breathy laugh.

“Just keep going. Talk – _oh_ – later.”

Draco could hardly believe this was Harry’s first time sucking someone off, but then, it was so typical of him to be naturally good at everything. The things he did with his tongue, how he swirled it around the tip - Merlin. Draco let himself moan freely and move his hips, encouraging Harry.

“Yes, just like that,” Draco murmured, his hands playing with Harry’s hair. “So good.”

Harry went on sucking and Draco closed his eyes, consumed by pleasure. He kept on going, trying different techniques as Draco made small sounds of contentment.

“Harry, Merlin, yes,” Draco breathed, hardly aware of what he was saying. All he knew was that he felt incredible, and it was because Harry Potter was sucking his cock like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. “Yes, please, Harry, please…”

And then Harry got even more of Draco’s cock in his mouth and it felt so good, so warm, and Draco’s bed arched slightly on his bed. Merlin, has a blowjob ever felt this good? He didn’t know it was possible.

He felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge, felt it deep in his body and Draco opened his eyes, wanting to look at Harry and oh fuck, he was beautiful, so beautiful, sucking and licking Draco-

“I’m going – Harry, I’m –“

Draco came into Harry’s mouth with a gasp, his vision whiting out momentarily, and Harry took it all without hesitation. Draco was so dazed he hardly realized Harry slipping his mouth off Draco’s cock and wiping it with the back of his hand.

“I swear,” Draco gasped as Harry came to rest at his side, a horrible (wonderful) smile on his face.

“What?”

“I swear I usually don’t that easily,” Draco said with effort, “You’re just…”

“Unbelievable?” Harry smirked.

“An arse.”

Harry closed the distance between them with a kiss. Draco moaned into it, pride long gone, and he gripped Harry’s arm as his tongue slipped into Harry’s mouth.

Harry pulled back and collapsed next to Draco. Draco thought about how fortunate he was, considering their past, Draco’s actions, his position in the war, his instability…he remembered his actions today and felt a twinge of guilt. Draco sighed, his gaze leaving Harry.

“I’m sorry for – today, for being so-” Draco couldn’t even find a word to fit his ever-changing moods, his temper, his aggression. He didn’t even know if he was making sense, he was so exhausted.

“You don’t need to apologize for anything,” Harry said, his voice soft and kind. It made Draco feel even guiltier; he didn’t deserve this, he didn’t deserve Harry. “I know the war’s affected you…like it’s affected me, just in different ways.”

Draco met those intense eyes he liked so much and shook his head, resigned.

His gaze fell to the oval-shaped scar on Harry’s chest. He touched it delicately. Harry shivered.

“You have any others?”

“One more,” Harry said, and stretched out his arm.

Draco didn’t see anything at first, but then he noticed two light indentations on Harry’s forearm. Draco’s fingers found them too, going over them gently.

“They’re from his snake,” Harry said before Draco had to ask. Draco didn’t have to ask whose snake, either. He saw it vividly in his mind, slithering towards the professor the Dark Lord had murdered on his family’s table. It must’ve shown on his face, because Harry whispered, “Draco?”

“Sorry. I just,” he took a deep breath. “I hated that snake.”

“Me too.” Harry kissed Draco’s forehead. “But it’s dead now.”

“Thank Merlin,” Draco breathed. His fingers found their way back to the oval scar on his chest. He didn’t know what about it had intrigued him so much. It was so perfect, so round, so clear-cut. And it was hidden. He couldn’t imagine many people could know about it. He wracked his tired brain in an effort to remember what Harry had said before. “What’s a Horcrux?”

“Horrible,” Harry said, his voice hardening. “They’re what Voldemort used to stay alive. He’d take objects and put pieces of his soul in them so he couldn’t really die.”

Draco thought about this.

“Is that what you were doing last year? Looking for these…Horcruxes?”

Harry nodded. “Looked for them and destroyed them.”

“No time for haircuts, then?” Draco asked, eyeing Harry’s hair with a smile.

Harry ran a hand through his hair nervously, but he relaxed at the change of topic.

“I like it,” Draco admitted, feeling his face grow warm as he did so.

“Oh,” Harry said, looking surprised. “I wasn’t sure – y’know, it being a rat’s nest and all.”

“The nicest rat’s nest there is,” Draco said, and Harry rolled his eyes. “Softest, too. But really. It suits you.”

“I didn’t know you approved of it that much,” Harry said, getting that grin on his face again.

“Well I do,” said Draco, “But I’m too tired to do anything about it now.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry’s eyes were bright. “After the best blowjob of your life?”

“Shut up,” Draco grumbled, but curled up next to Harry all the same, “You arrogant prat.”

“Ssh. Sleep,” Harry said, and Draco did.

* * *

 

“No!”

Draco woke with a start, pulled out of his dreams by a shout. For a moment he thought it was his; it wasn’t so unusual for him to cry out in his sleep. He looked around wildly, his eyes having trouble adjusting in the dark.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry...”

Harry’s voice snapped Draco out of his tired stupor; he sat up and looked down at Harry, who was thrashing about in his sleep. He was having a nightmare.

“Harry,” Draco hissed uncertainly. Would it be safe to touch him? “Harry, wake up.”

Harry simply moaned, clearly still asleep. Draco moved closer, unsure of what to do. Hesitantly, he put a hand on Harry’s arm – it was damp with sweat. He shook him.

“ _Harry_ ,” he said sharply.

“No,” Harry said again, but this time, his eyes snapped open.

He looked around blearily, a panicked expression of his sweaty face. His eyes were wet with tears and unseeing.

“I’m – I,” he gasped. “I’m sorry. Please…”

“Harry?” Draco asked, and he removed his hand. “You’re awake. It was a dream.”

Harry’s eyes snapped to him. Draco wondered if Harry had understood him.

Draco slowly rested his hand on Harry’s arm again. To his relief, Harry’s body relaxed slightly at Draco’s touch, though his chest was still rising and falling unsteadily.

“Sorry,” he croaked.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Draco said softly.

Harry rubbed at his eyes. Draco smoothed away the hair from Harry’s damp forehead, his chest tight with anxiety.

He’d heard about Harry’s nightmares years before - many students had, but it was one thing to hear about them, and another entirely to be present while he was having one. Harry had mentioned before that he had trouble sleeping, but Draco had no idea it was this severe. He himself had his fair share of nightmares, but this seemed different.

Harry sighed and closed his eyes at the touch.

“Sorry,” he said again.

“Don’t apologize,” said Draco, wanting to calm him. “Why would you need to be sorry?”

“I woke you.” Harry’s voice was scratchy, quiet. “I’m always – always trouble.”

“No,” Draco said, taken aback. “You never are.”

“I am.”

Draco swallowed. He thought back to what Harry told him about his relatives.

“Is this…is this what the Dursleys told you?”

Harry tensed under his touch but didn’t answer.

“Are they what your nightmare was about?”

Harry shook his head.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head again.

“Alright,” said Draco. “If you do, you always can.”

“Thanks, Draco.”

They were quiet for a minute, just sitting and listening to the silence.

“What time do you reckon it is?”

“I’m not sure,” frowned Draco. He took his wand and cast _Tempus_. “It’s only six-thirty.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Draco said, pointing to the numbers in the air. “Six-thirty.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize we’d slept that long,” said Harry.

“Me neither,” said Draco.

“Lie back down,” Harry said softly, those remarkable eyes shining up at him.

Draco did. He was fraught with anxiety as he looked at Harry. He must not have been able to keep the worry out of his eyes, because Harry sighed.

“Don’t treat me differently,” he said softly.

Draco swallowed and nodded.

* * *

 

It was five in the morning when he woke up again.

Draco yawned, exhausted despite having slept for so long. He realized he was still completely naked and dug around the foot of his bed for his underwear. After getting them on, he turned to look at Harry, who was sleeping peacefully beside him. Draco gazed at him fondly, the usual warmth he felt now tinged by guilt and sadness.

He’d known Harry had _issues_ , like Draco had _issues_ , but he’d never pressed. He’d never given it much thought – _how_ exactly Harry was struggling.

He’d never felt quite so selfish.

Just because Draco was fine with not talking about how fucked they were didn’t mean that Harry was. Though…it didn’t seem Harry was especially keen on talking about it either. But Draco hated to think that Harry was suffering alone, or that he was hiding it from Draco, or that Draco was just meant to ignore it.

Maybe they both needed to get drunk again, like they did at that Halloween party. Maybe once they had alcohol coursing through them, their tongues would become looser.

Draco felt even guiltier at the thought – conspiring to get his boyfriend drunk just so he could talk to him? That couldn’t be the sign of a healthy relationship, could it?

Draco suppressed a groan. He hated himself.

And the fact that Harry had asked him to not treat him any differently – isn’t that exactly what he was doing already?

He _really_ hated himself.

A smoke. That’s what he needed.

But then Draco looked over at Harry, and he knew he couldn’t leave him to wake up alone – even if it was just from a regular dream. And so he remained, lying on his side, itching for nicotine, studying Harry, and wondering how he could help if at all.

* * *

 

Harry woke up at a quarter past six. He had had a regular dream, or so it seemed, and woke naturally. No sweating, no shouting, no crying.

Draco felt like he could breathe for the first time since waking.

“Morning,” said Draco softly as Harry’s eyes found him.

Harry smiled tiredly, a small one, and stifled a yawn.

“Morning.”

Draco was wondering what to say when Harry beat him to it.

“Sorry again. About last night,” Harry said. His voice had suddenly lost all trace of sleep and he was avoiding Draco’s gaze, opting instead to stare up above him. “I didn’t – I’m just, I feel bad about it.”

Draco’s chest ached.

“Don’t,” Draco said, scrambling for the right words. “Don’t feel bad about it. There’s no reason to. Harry, I’m…I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it, and that I shouldn’t treat you differently, but I’m worried.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Harry-“

“ _Draco_ ,” Harry cut across him, eyes flashing. Draco’s words died in his throat; this was the Harry who was confident and powerful - the one who had saved the world. “Don’t worry about it.”

Part of Draco wanted to leave right there – he didn’t have to take this – but part of him was just as stubborn as Harry was.

“I can’t _not_ worry about it, Harry,” Draco hissed, sitting up. Harry sat up too and stared at him, challenging him even in silence. “Even though you’re apparently refusing to acknowledge your problems, I won’t. I _can’t_. I can’t just stand by and pretend that you’re not struggling. I know you’re really great at pretending everything’s fine but I already know it’s not. You don’t need to keep up the pretense around me. And honestly, I’d really rather you not - it’s unhealthy, Harry, and I’m worried.”

Harry suddenly whipped the curtain open and got out of bed. Draco watched as he started pacing, half-naked with only boxers on. He hoped the rest of the Gryffindors were still asleep and would stay that way.

“It’s not that big of a deal. I can – I can handle it. Everyone has nightmares.”

“How often do you have them?”

Harry hesitated. “I dunno.”

“Yes you do.”

“It’s better now,” Harry said, still avoiding the question. “It used to be worse, but now I hardly ever need dreamless sleep.”

“But it’s not just the nightmares, is it?” Draco asked quietly. “You’ve mentioned other things. The – the abuse. Why it didn’t work with Ginny Weasley. And I remember…you said something about how you can’t get what happened out of your head. Like – you can’t forget.”

Harry finally stopped pacing and rubbed at his eyes with a single hand. Draco realized that he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Did he want them?

“No, I can’t,” Harry said, suddenly sounding very tired. He looked up, finally meeting Draco’s eyes. Merlin, it hurt seeing Harry like this. So dejected – so beaten down. “I can’t forget any of it. It – it _haunts_ me and I hate it. I want to move on but I just keep reliving it instead. I remember all the deaths I caused wherever I go – like every single place in this castle is a reminder of what’s happened and I can’t fucking escape it. But it might not even be that – Hogwarts isn’t what’s wrong - what’s really fucked up is my head, like it’s inside. Like I can’t escape. And I see them all in my dreams too – all the people I killed, and sometimes I can’t even tell what’s real and I just - _fuck_.”

Harry stopped talking, turning away and taking a ragged breath. Draco felt close to tears himself but didn’t dare say anything.

“Sometimes I think it would have been better if I had just stayed dead.”

Draco’s blood ran cold.

“N- what do you mean, stayed dead?”

“I died,” Harry said simply. He turned back around; his voice was scratchy and his eyes were sullen as he stared at Draco. “When Voldemort hit me with the killing curse in the forest, I died. I saw Dumbledore, and he told me I could go on or go back.”

“Harry…”

“And obviously, I chose to go back, but sometimes…it feels like I should have stayed,” Harry finished quietly.

He made his way back to the bed and sat down, his back to Draco.

Draco hesitantly moved closer and reached out to place a hand on Harry’s tense shoulder. There was a blur of motion as Harry turned and embraced Draco, holding onto him as if his life depended on it. Draco was surprised into not moving before remembering himself; he wrapped his arms tightly around Harry.

“You’re so brave,” Draco said softly. Harry buried his face in Draco’s shoulder; Draco thought he might have shaken his head. “I can’t – I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve gone through, but I’m so glad you’re here. Alive. You’re a _good_ person, Harry, and you haven’t caused any deaths. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“But I have.” Harry’s voice was muffled. “So many people are dead, and they’d all be alive if it weren’t for me. I should – I should be dead too.”

“Don’t say that,” Draco said sharply. That all-too-familiar weight settled deep in his chest. “Harry, please. I promise you, you haven’t caused any deaths. You’ve helped so many people, and you should be _alive_ , Harry. You should be alive and happy - you deserve that much after everything.”

Harry let out a great, shuddering sigh. Draco gripped him tighter.

“I just can’t believe it.”

“Harry…”

“You don’t need to say anything, Draco,” Harry said, releasing him. He sounded more like his usual self now – more collected, less distressed. He looked at Draco a moment, though Draco wasn’t sure how much Harry could actually see without his glasses on. “Really. I, er, talking is good. I’m not saying I’m magically cured or anything, but it helps.”

Draco nodded, feeling entirely insufficient. Harry ran a hand through his hair. He looked so exhausted – the kind that went past not getting enough sleep.

“I think…I’m going to try and go back to sleep. If that’s alright..?”

“Oh. Of course,” Draco said. “I’ll just, ah-“

He scrambled to find his clothes, pulling his shirt from underneath the covers.

“You don’t need to-“

“No, I should go,” said Draco, glancing up at Harry as he pulled on his shirt. “I don’t think I can sleep anymore anyway, and soon the rest will be waking up…you need your rest.”

Harry bit his lip but nodded. Draco paused in buttoning up his shirt and put his hand to the back of Harry’s neck, kissing the top of his head.

“You’re unbelievable. Truly.”

* * *

 

“Malfoy.”

Draco turned in the corridor outside Gryffindor tower, already on edge simply after hearing that voice. He met the firm gaze of Ron Weasley, who stood just outside the portrait hole in his pajamas, and shoved his hands in his pockets, afraid of a repeat of their last encounter.

“What is it, Weasley?” he asked tensely.

Weasley studied him a moment. It was strange to see him without Granger at his side.

“I just wanted to say thanks,” he said, clearly as uncomfortable as Draco felt.

Draco thought he’d heard him wrong.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Thanks,” Weasley repeated. At Draco’s expression, he continued, “I, uh, heard you talking to Harry this morning.”

His stomach dropped and he glanced away, embarrassed. “Oh.”

“It’s – “ Weasley scratched his head, apparently formulating his words. “Hermione and I know he’s been having trouble after – after everything, but he won’t really talk about it with us. So I’m just glad that he does have someone to talk to.”

His words faltered a bit towards the end, but he still looked resolutely at Draco, who was admittedly surprised at Weasley’s uncharacteristic sincerity.

“There’s no need to thank me, Weasley,” Draco said, finally collecting himself. “I…care about Harry, even if doesn’t always seem like it.”

“No, I know.” Weasley frowned. “Still just trying to wrap my head around it.”

“Hm,” Draco said, not knowing how to reply.

“Right. Anyway, thanks.”

With that, Weasley nodded gruffly and turned back to reenter Gryffindor tower. Draco watched him go, unsure what to think.

* * *

 

Draco found Pansy with ease after Blaise had pointed him in the right direction. True to his word, Pansy was revising in the library with Padma Patil. He approached her with crossed arms.

“Pansy. Could I talk with you a moment?”

Pansy looked up from her textbook, a surprised expression on her face. She glanced over at Patil, then back at Draco.

“Excuse me, Padma,” she said, and Patil nodded.

Pansy stood and walked around the table to reach Draco. She looked at him evenly with pursed lips, like she already knew what to expect from him.

“Come on,” he said tiredly and began walking away from the table, not glancing back to check if she was following.

She was, though, and they made their way to a deserted section of the library. He stopped at the end of an aisle and turned to face her. Pansy stopped as well, leaning casually against one of the shelves.

“What is this about, then?”

“I’m sure you already know,” said Draco, “But I’ll tell you anyway. It’s about that time you threatened Harry when my back was turned. Do you remember that?”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic. It was just a simple warning.”

Normally, his frustration would have risen considerably, but he was drained after the events of the past few days.

“You can tell _me_ all you want about how I’m being reckless and naïve and ignoring the past but you don’t get to threaten my boyfriend when he hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“Hasn’t done anything wrong?” Pansy repeated with a scoff. “Don’t make me laugh. Your entire relationship was built on him wronging you.”

“Because I made his life hell,” Draco retorted. “You don’t get to conveniently forget everything I’d done to him, especially when I was always worse to him.”

“He’s put you in the hospital!” Pansy’s voice rose and she stepped closer, her eyes blazing.

“It just as easily could’ve been me putting him in the hospital that day,” Draco said firmly. “And I’ve hurt him countless other times as well.”

“He could have _killed_ you, Draco,” Pansy hissed.

“He didn’t know what the spell did,” Draco replied calmly, though he was begrudgingly touched by the emotion in her voice. He sighed. “He fucked up, I know. But it was a mistake. And we both know I’ve made my fair share of those. Ones that could have killed people.”

Pansy opened her mouth but shut it without saying anything, an angry expression on her face. She huffed and turned away to stare down the rows of books, avoiding Draco’s gaze.

He waited.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she finally said, her voice quiet.

“I do.”

Pansy sighed and finally met Draco’s gaze, her eyes sad.

“I really am just trying to look out for you, you know.”

“I know,” he said softly. “You just went about it the wrong way.”

He moved closer and tucked some loose hair behind her ear. She closed her eyes and leaned into the touch, eventually closing the gap between them with a hug. Draco held her close, a hand to the back of her head.

“I’m sorry.”

“I accept your apology,” said Draco. “Just…don’t do it again.”

He felt her nod against his chest.

They stood like that for another minute or so before parting. Pansy looked up at him.

“Would you like to revise with Padma and me?”

“I would, yes,” said Draco.

She hooked her arm through his and they both began walking.

“Can you believe exams are this week?”

“Have you started that paper?” Draco asked, gladly falling back into their usual rhythm.

“What do you think? And _don’t_ tell me I told you so.”

Draco laughed.

* * *

 

Harry found him later that day, of course, but had waited until Pansy and Patil had left before showing up.

At the sound of a throat clearing, Draco looked up from his parchment to see Harry leaning against a chair, bag over his shoulder and a small smile on his face. He looked a bit more well-rested than he did this morning, slightly easing the anxiety that had been gripping Draco throughout the day.

“Hey,” Harry said. He nodded at the now empty seat next to Draco. “Can I sit?”

“Of course,” Draco said, never failing to be endeared by Harry’s politeness, his uncertainty. He made space in the area next to him and watched as Harry made his way around the table and sat down. “How’d you sleep?”

Harry set his bag down and bit his lip.

“Good, yeah.” He hesitated, then said, “Thanks. For forcing me to talk about it. I, er, probably wouldn’t’ve otherwise and I guess I needed it.”

Draco nodded. “You really can talk to me anytime. And I…honestly felt guilty that we’ve spent so much time – that _I’ve_ spent so much time complaining about my own problems and never spent any time on yours. It was unfair and selfish and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t.” Harry shook his head. “I er, wouldn’t have talked about it anyway. It was enough to know I wasn’t alone, y’know?”

Draco didn’t really believe him, but he nodded anyways, remembering their conversation out on the balcony.

They’d come so far since that night.

“Well,” Draco said, wanting a change of subject. “I see you’ve waited until Pansy left this time.”

“Er, yeah.” Harry seemed to welcome it as he pulled out some books and a quill. He fiddled with it, a slight frown on his face. “I didn’t know how welcome I’d be…I’d just make it awkward, I think.”

“I had a talk with her,” Draco said gently. “She admits she was wrong. You were right – she was just worried about me.”

This didn’t seem to comfort Harry. He tapped the quill against the table, his eyes glazed over as he looked down at it.

“I really won’t hurt you, y’know.”

Draco was taken aback. He reached out to take Harry’s hand, stopping the nervous tapping of the quill.

“Of course I know,” Draco said earnestly, his eyes trained on Harry. “I – I trust you.”

The tension in Harry’s face and body diffused; his eyes widened slightly. He finally put his quill down.

“Really?”

Draco scoffed and looked away, feeling his face got hot.

“Yes. Merlin, Harry, this shouldn’t be news to you.”

“Draco,” said Harry, and when Draco turned to face him, he leaned in to kiss Draco gently. When they parted, Harry looked intently at Draco, their faces barely an inch apart and foreheads pressed together. Draco could feel Harry’s breath on his face. “I trust you too.”

He didn’t know why Harry would trust him of all people, but he believed him somehow.

Draco kissed him again, threading his fingers through the mess of Harry’s hair. He felt Harry smile into the kiss, and Draco couldn’t help but smile back.

Maybe things would be alright.


End file.
